Last Thursday marked the 143rd birthday of the Austrian Jewish writer Stefan Zweig, who killed himself in 1942, facing the complete collapse of the world he knew. Jay Nordlinger writes:
Zweig grew up in a “golden age of security,” as he terms it. This sense of security was imparted to widening circles of people, not just the comfortably off or advantageously born. Even the Jews, such as Zweig and his family, felt secure. . . . Vienna was a great, open, liberal city. The “genius of Vienna,” writes Zweig, was that “it harmonized all national and linguistic opposites in itself.” Nowhere, he says, “was it easier to be a European.” That was then.
Zweig saw most of that security collapse with World War I and the disintegration of the tolerant and multiethnic Hapsburg empire. Yet he understood well that this security was for the most part illusory to begin with, “a castle in the air,” as he put it—a theme that occurs again and again beneath the surface of his fiction. And it’s worth noting that some of his contemporaries saw through the illusion in real time, among them Theodor Herzl, a fellow Viennese Jew Zweig admired very much, who had embraced Zionism before the younger writer had published his first book.
As bad as things were in the wake of World War I, Zweig, unlike Herzl, lived to see them get much worse. Nordlinger continues:
“More and more clearly,” writes Zweig, “I began to detect a certain insecurity in people’s behavior as they started to waver. Your own small personal experiences of life are always more persuasive than anything else.” Yes. One day, on the street in Salzburg, Zweig noticed something telltale.
An old friend of his avoided greeting him. The next day, to make up for it, the friend called on Zweig at home. The truth was plain: it was becoming dangerous to be friendly in public with Jews—even world-famous ones. Zweig went into exile, in England.
To some Jews today, this might sound more than a little familiar.
More about: Anti-Semitism, Austrian Jewry, Stefan Zweig, Theodor Herzl