Introduction

In recent decades, the history of the Jewish press has become an object of intense interest among historians, resulting in scholarly publications and resource digitization projects. From the very beginnings of research in this field, considerable importance has been attached to periodicals associated with the modern social projects of the nineteenth and twentieth century. Among the subjects that have been discussed are the activities of Hebrew-language periodicals published by supporters of the Haskalah movement, the press organs of political parties or contemporary Jewish daily newspapers.Footnote ¹ Certain categories of periodicals have already entered the canon of sources used in scholarly works by various branches of the humanities. Literary periodicals, the periodicals of the YIVO Yiddish Scientific Institute, and publications issued by Orthodox circles enjoy considerable interest among researchers of Ashkenazi culture. However, despite a certain amount of progress in this field, we still know relatively little about the functioning of newspapers at the local level, especially in the provinces.Footnote ² Periodicals published in Hebrew and in Yiddish have also been consulted in the context of the history of scholarship, with attention focused not only on the significance of the press for the modernization of the Jewish people but also on the fact of the existence of a vibrant press market in Poland, in which many scholarly and popular-science periodicals – orientated specifically towards the Jewish population – were established (inter alia, Stein Reference Stein2004; Trachtenberg Reference Trachtenberg, Hoffman and Mendelsohn2008; Cohen Reference Cohen2012, Reference Cohen, Dynner and Guesnet2015).

All of these approaches concentrate on the institutional aspects of the press and attempt to treat it as a reflection of the views and ambitions of specific circles (supporters of the Enlightenment, social and political activists, etc.). The opportunity to reconstruct an image of the readers on the basis of articles and other content published in the periodicals they read (including “letters to the editors”) is much less frequently exploited. This task is not an easy one. Contemporary researchers of the media discourse indicate that the actual recipients of the texts do not necessarily correspond to the group to which the message was directed, and finding the actual recipients sometimes requires intensive searching, which does not always bear fruit (Lisowska-Magdziarz Reference Lisowska-Magdziarz2006, 62–63; Talbot Reference Talbot2007, 47). In the case of the popular-science press published in the language of a minority, determining the readership does not seem to pose such serious problems, as its recipients were, first and foremost, its native speakers. This group can be defined by more or less specific linguistic criteria: Hebrew periodicals mainly reached Jewish men who read Hebrew; the Yiddish equivalents were accessible to the majority of the followers of Judaism, including men and women capable of reading complex texts exclusively in the vernacular. However, both types of periodicals remained almost completely incomprehensible to representatives of the Christian world. A particular source that opens a very broad perspective of research in the context that is discussed are the correspondence columns. These provide an insight into the expectations cherished by the readers of the press articles and may tell us a great deal about how ideas supported by a given editor were received. Although it is not always possible to evaluate the credibility of correspondence published as “letters to the editors” since this form was often used as a camouflage for direct propaganda, we might risk a statement that the majority of the letters presented here were authentic. If the columns contained a great number of letters whose senders are known (their names, their background, their gender, etc.) and moreover if they continued to be published with sufficient frequency – and this is indeed the case – such enhanced material constitutes an exceptionally promising source from the perspective of research about awareness.

The emergence of print media aimed at a mass Jewish audience at the turn of the twentieth century engendered an enthusiastic reaction on the part of readers.Footnote ³ The published letters to the editors written by anonymous readers constitute visible testimony to this media’s great success. These letters discussed a wide range of subjects, sometimes praising or criticizing the content of the periodicals, but above all they were directed to the editors in the hope of receiving help. In 1906, the Yiddish-language New York periodical Forverts (Forward) initiated a column entitled “Bintl Briv” (A Bundle of Letters),Footnote ⁴ in which incoming letters were quoted, particular aspects of life in the United States were explained to the readers, and detailed advice was given. The column enjoyed spectacular success, and immensely facilitated immigrants’ acclimatization to their new circumstances and helped them to maintain contact with their families. Similar columns also functioned in other American dailies, and in Central and Eastern Europe, correspondence sections had appeared since the earliest days of the press aimed at a mass Jewish audience in the Yiddish language. The editors of the Kraków biweekly Der Yud (The Jew, 1899–1902)Footnote ⁵ used a small section titled “Briv-Kastn” (Mailbox), which appeared at the bottom of the final page, predominantly in order to communicate with subscribers and authors who intended to have their texts published. One of the largest Jewish dailies in Warsaw, Haynt (Today), sporadically published a column entitled “Tshuves fun Redaktsye” (Responses of the Editors) in the 1920s. Readers’ questions were answered but the content of their letters was not disclosed. Subjects discussed included legal advice, emigration and military service, as well as medical themes.Footnote ⁶ Similar columns also appeared in the women’s periodical Di Froy (The Woman),Footnote ⁷ which was published in Vilna in the years 1925–1933, and even in the prestigious literary periodical Literarishe Bleter (Literary Pages).Footnote ⁸

Health as a crucial subject from the perspective of society – and an exceptionally important one from the perspective of the individual reader – was a recurring theme in the Jewish press in Polish lands throughout the entire periods of the press’s dynamic development. From the middle of the nineteenth century until 1939, newspapers published information about the accessibility of medical services or the most recent discoveries in the field of medicine. Modern newspapers provided reports about health resorts and spas, as well as reinforced their readers’ convictions about the authority of medicine by describing cases of medical fraud and the consequences of failing to follow the rules of hygiene. The content of the pages of the dailies and periodicals was contributed by doctors, who countered opinions based on folk medicine and provided advice about physical condition and recreation. What is noteworthy is that health-related themes appeared in the press not only in the articles. Since their very inception, the classified advertisement and publicity sections provided a large amount of medicine-related information. These sections contained brief notices concerning medical consultations or notifications of breaks in the reception of patients, as well as more comprehensive, frequently illustrated, advertisements, which encouraged the readers to use specific drugs or visit medical establishments. In the Jewish press of the inter-war period, such advertisements were published both in the language of the given periodical in which they appeared and in Polish. Sometimes the same advertisements that appeared in the national (Polish) press were also published. In other cases, the content of these advertisements was translated, e.g. into Yiddish.

Editors of medical and popular-medical periodicals in the Yiddish language also exchanged correspondence with readers. These periodicals differed among themselves in terms of their nature and content; their programmatic premises were different and they were not always addressed to the same group of readers. Moreover, the columns that contained letters to the editor could serve different purposes. Lesser significance was attached to some letters, and greater to others: sometimes readers’ statements were quoted without a commentary, in other cases they were not quoted at all – the editors confined themselves to a brief response. The present article will focus on a number of the most important periodicals, all of which appeared over the course of at least a few years. These periodicals were intended for Jewish inhabitants of Eastern Europe who used Yiddish on a daily basis and who perceived this language as an important element of self-identification. These periodicals included the following: Der Yidisher Hoyz-Doktor (The Jewish House Doctor), Folksgezunt (People’s Health) and Der Doktor (The Doctor). Special attention will be devoted to a monthly (briefly a bi-weekly), Folksgezunt, which featured a regular correspondence and medical advice section for the longest period of time. The Yiddish-language scholarly-profile periodical Sotsyale Meditsin (Social Medicine, 1927–1939) will not be covered by the present analyses, because it was intended for a completely different circle of readers – above all, Jewish doctors. The same is true for the quarterly Meditsinishe Shriftn (Medical Writings), which was published by the Association of Jewish Physicians in Vilna (Związek Lekarzy-Żydów w Wilnie), and which only appeared before the outbreak of the war in a single double-issue.Footnote ⁹

The Second Polish Republic, brought back to life as a result of events related to the Great War, inherited three systems of health care and three areas of varied levels of social security of citizens from the partitioning powers. In this respect, the area that was formerly part of the Russian Empire, including Congress Poland, was least developed. This area also made up the greatest part of the territory of the new Poland after a peace treaty was concluded with Soviet Russia in 1921. It had the lowest numbers of doctors per citizen and the health care system had not been developed due to the negligence of the imperial (Russian) authorities.Footnote ¹⁰ Paradoxically, the difficult conditions at the beginning of the existence of the Polish state paved the way for the rejection of the obsolete model of the health service which had functioned there over the course of centuries and for the construction of a modern system that met the requirements of the twentieth century. The newly established state made progress in the field of social health a priority of its agenda. Although the economic conditions of the 1920s and 1930s did not make the realization of this goal easy, on the whole the health care system underwent a qualitative change. In the final years of the existence of imperial Russia, the activities of the Jewish “organic work” movement had developed. The Obschestvo Zdravookhraneniia Evreev (OZE, Society for the Protection of the Health of the Jews), an organization that had already been established in 1912, provided a foundation for similar activities in independent Poland. The Society for Safeguarding the Health of the Jewish Population (Towarzystwo Ochrony Zdrowia Ludności Żydowskiej, TOZ) was established at the beginning of the 1920s on the basis of the Warsaw branch of the above-mentioned organization (OZE). Apart from institutional activities, the TOZ was also engaged in a broad campaign to propagate modern medical views. The promotion of health was conducted inter alia by means of publications edited by qualified doctors and was published thanks to the support of the TOZ.

Jewish medical circles had already attempted to reach the masses by means of the written word much earlier. The problem was at the center of interest of Maskilim from the very beginning of the Jewish Enlightenment. By the end of the eighteenth century, articles explaining new ways of medicine and science appeared in the pioneering magazine “HaMeasef,” including questions and answers regarding vaccination against smallpox (Moshe bar Menachem 1784). Before the final fall of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, Moses Marcuse published a book entitled Sefer Refuot ha-nikra Ezer Israel (Marcuse Reference Marcuse1790), an extensively revised Yiddish translation of a well-known medical handbook Avis au peuple sur sa santé by Samuel August Tissot (Lausanne 1761). The second translation of Tissot’s work, Refuot ha-Am (Żółkiew 1794) appeared in Hebrew owing to the effort of Menachem Mendel Lefin of Satanów (1749–1826),Footnote ¹¹ and the second edition of this book was published as late as 1851 owing to the initiative of a Warsaw physician, Mateusz Studencki (1805–1875).Footnote ¹² Even greater success was associated with the Hebrew translation of Anleitung für Bürger und Landleute by Heinrich Felix Paulizky (1752–1791). The work appeared as Marpe le-Am in the years 1834–1842 in two volumes, and reappeared again in Zhitomir in 1868. In other words, the East European Haskalah gathered enough physicians and writers to cope with medical obscurity and backwardness with printed works already at the beginning of the nineteenth century. At that time most of its initiatives depended on foreign literary patterns, nevertheless they influenced the health culture of the Jewish population and spread news about preventive and curative measures recommended by learned Professoren.

At the turn of the twentieth century, the publishing market in Russia had begun to familiarize itself with the growing number of popular-medical publications devoted to the most important health-related problems that troubled contemporary society. In contradistinction to books that had been published for years in Hebrew, these were written in Yiddish, the mother tongue of Ashkenazi Jews, thanks to which they could reach a much wider audience.Footnote ¹³ The flourishing of the popular-science publications market was associated with phenomena that affected the inhabitants of Central and Eastern Europe. According to Nathan Cohen, Jewish publishers were inspired by the success of the Polish series known as Biblioteki [Libraries]. This series contained wide-ranging information about various fields of human endeavor, provided in an accessible way, and furnished with illustrations (Cohen Reference Cohen, Dynner and Guesnet2015, 201). The Jewish press, which developed in parallel, took a keen interest in participation in this segment of the market. Soon, the formula of the “Library” was being used by the editors of Jewish periodicals, and shortly afterwards the first regularly published supplement to a Jewish newspaper devoted exclusively to the problems of health care appeared in Warsaw. In February 1912, Shmuel Yankev Yatskan (1874–1936), the founder and editor of the widely-read daily newspaper Haynt, released the supplement Der Yidisher Hoyz-Doktor into circulation.Footnote ¹⁴ This small, sixteen-page weekly supplement cost 5 kopeks, but subscribers to the Warsaw newspaper were supposed to receive it free of charge. At that time, Yatskan operated actively as a publisher, collaborating with, inter alios, brothers Nehemia and Noah Finkelstein (one of the brothers officially co-edited the supplement) and maintaining close contacts with a circle of Jewish doctors, who supported his initiative by contributing articles. The collaborators of Der Yidisher Hoyz-Doktor included, inter alios, Dr. Meir Gotlieb, the author of a series of booklets titled Zayt Gezunt (Be Well, published as part of the Tsukermans Folksbibliotek) and Dr. Avraham Virshubski, a psychiatrist whose articles also appeared in the Polish medical press of the inter-war period.

The weekly supplement met the requirements of the twentieth century and featured texts of a high standard. The opening article, “Unzer Oyfgabe” (Our Task), was based on the positivist idea of progress. The changes that were happening in the turn-of-the-century world – which affected all areas of human life – were also supposed to exert an influence on the bodily aspects of man (Di Redaktsye, “Unzer Oyfgabe” [Our Task], Der Yidisher Hoyz-Doktor, 1, 1912, 1–2). Indeed, the editors of Der Yidisher Hoyz-Doktor attached great importance to social problems – apart from general information about diseases, some statistical data were also provided. However, there was not enough space in the supplement to cover the problems in greater detail. The articles – which included translations from other languages – appeared in installments and were directed to all readers. The final pages of each issue admittedly contained the column “Alerley” (Miscellanea), but the latter mainly provided interesting pieces of news from the world of medicine as opposed to attempts at an analysis of individual cases (relating to given conditions).Footnote ¹⁵ Basically speaking, the editors did not exchange letters with readers,Footnote ¹⁶ although it is likely that the selection of articles was influenced by the correspondence that was addressed to Haynt, and the supplement itself created an opportunity to transmit medical knowledge to a folksmentsh (a man of the people) without formal restraints of a daily newspaper. In this respect Der Yidisher Hoyz-Doktor may be perceived as a folk almanac rather than a medical journal in a narrow sense of this term.

Yastkan’s periodical paved the way for the modern popular-medical press published in Yiddish. The tumultuous period after the end of the First World War was not favorable to the establishment of a successor to the supplement, but as early as January, 1923, the monthly periodical Folksgezunt (People’s HealthFootnote ¹⁷) edited by a well-known doctor and social activist, Dr. Tsemakh Szabad (1864–1935), appeared in Vilna. Szabad had been writing popular-scientific articles in Russian for many years, and in 1915 he made his début as a contributor of texts to the Vilna Yiddish-language press, which had developed during the German occupation.Footnote ¹⁸ He was the editor-in-chief of Folksgezunt until his death in 1935, when he was replaced by another social activist (and publisher), Hirsh Matz.Footnote ¹⁹ Moreover, a short piece in the first issue informed readers that Avraham Kotik would also be collaborating as an editor. Kotik, himself a Bundist activist who came from Kamieniec Litewski wrote articles about health. Inter alia, he had presented the objectives of the OZE to readers in an issue of Der Yidisher Hoyz-Doktor (Kotik Reference Kotik1912). The team was further extended to include a doctor, Itzhak Rafes,Footnote ²⁰ but from the appearance of the double issue no. 5–6 onwards, the only editor who was mentioned by name was Tsemakh Szabad.

The introductory article in Folksgezunt also mentioned the tasks faced by the periodical: these were linked to the general condition of the Jewish population rather than the abstract idea of progress. Spreading modern ideas on healthy living and medicine was supposed to serve the people, both as an educative and practical measure.Footnote ²¹ This monthly periodical was an organ of the Vilna branch of the OZE (and subsequently of the TOZ), and it was published in collaboration with other branches of this organization – inter alia, in Warsaw, Łódź, Lwów, Kraków, and Berlin. Therefore, it quite naturally served the purpose of an information bulletin and a forum for the exchange of thoughts, and to publicize the activities of the Societies. However, its main task was to popularize and disseminate knowledge about hygiene, ways of preventing diseases, and maintaining health. Therefore, each issue contained articles that explained the causes of diseases in an accessible way and also indicated the best ways of limiting the risk of contracting a disease. The popularizing and didactic nature of the periodical was reflected in the way in which medical information was provided. The editor employed a number of strategies aimed at reaching the average reader more easily – for example, supporting the consistent use of medical terminology in the Yiddish language or supplementing texts with illustrations. Providing articles with titles in the form of questions undoubtedly had a practical purpose (e.g. “Vi Farhit Men Zikh fun Venerishe Krankaytn?” [How to Keep Oneself Safe from Venereal Diseases?]), and this technique was used very frequently.Footnote ²² Some texts were exclusively presented in the form of brief enumerated questions (shayles) and answers (tshuves).Footnote ²³ The editors sometimes drew directly from the tradition of Judaism by publishing articles entitled “10 Gebot fun Arbets-Zikherkayt” (4/1936, Ten Commandments of Safety at Work), “Esres Hadibres far di Muters” (3/1925, Ten Commandments for Mothers) or “Higienishe Shayles Utshuves” (2/1939, Hygiene-Related Questions and Answers). These referred to both aspects of Jewish religious law: the Written Torah (the Ten Commandments) and the Oral Torah (the interpretations of the rabbis). The tradition of rabbinical responses was also referred to – completely consciously, it seems – by responding to readers’ questions.

In the periodical Folksgezunt, correspondence with readers was exchanged at several different levels. Members of the OZE and TOZ informed readers about the activities of the local branches of these organizations in the “Korespondentsn” (Correspondences) column.Footnote ²⁴ Letters from readers who were ideologically engaged in the promotion of advances in medicine but who were not necessarily members of any associations began to appear in the periodical’s second year in an occasional column – “Shtimen fun Lezer” (Voices of the Readers). This correspondence mainly contained jeremiads against the sanitary state of Jewish institutions in the provinces, and appeals to people to engage in work for the cause of the enlightenment of the masses. An author whose texts were frequently printed in this section was Eliyohu Sosnovik from Myory (Belarus), a collector of ethnographical material and a collaborator to the periodical Yidishe Filologye, which came out at that time in Vilna (Sosnovik Reference Sosnovik1924). His letters were also published in a series of articles – “Shedlekhe Minhogim” (Harmful Customs), in which practices that accompanied Jewish rituals that were considered unhygienic were combatted.Footnote ²⁵ The correspondence, which came from “ordinary” readers and which was particularly personal in nature, was discussed in the “Briv-Kastn” column.

This section, which featured direct correspondence with readers, ran almost uninterrupted from the fifth issue of Folksgezunt (5–6/1923) until 1933, appearing under more or less the same title.Footnote ²⁶ It was initiated by the enthusiastic opinions of doctors, who supported the idea of the regular publication of a popular-medical periodical in Yiddish. However, when the editors promised to answer (gebn tshuve) every kind of inquiry on the part of readers – as long as such inquiries related to the general theme of the periodical – the number of incoming letters rapidly increased and the nature of the correspondence changed. In the following years, the “Briv-Kastn” column was smaller and appeared much less regularly. Eventually it disappeared from the periodical at the beginning of 1937. The decline in importance of this column occurred in parallel with the death of the editor-in-chief and with subsequent changes that occurred in the periodical. Nevertheless, for over a decade the column constituted an important part of each issue, diminishing neither in popularity nor size, even in the period when the magazine appeared every two weeks. Moreover, it was not treated as a humble correspondence section, but as an integral part of Folksgezunt. It usually occupied more than one page, and sometimes even two pages of the issue, printed in two columns of text. Within a relatively short space of time, answers were printed in smaller type. If for some reason the column could not be published, the editors included a note of apology and assured readers that the column would return soon. In sum, the editors responded in this way to hundreds of letters each year, referring the scores of readers to separate articles. The responses to individual questions were very brief: they began with some details on the correspondent, who usually concealed his or her identity under a pseudonym; then the problem was briefly summarized, and, finally, a short or long answer was provided directly. In some cases the editors decided to adduce longer fragments of the correspondence, either in the form of quotations or more complex descriptions.Footnote ²⁷ Less frequently, although not uncommonly, the response assumed the form of an in-depth argument, to which references were made in subsequent issues for the benefit of those readers with an ongoing interest in the subject.

Quite soon it turned out that the planned mission of answering the incoming medical questions directly was beyond the capabilities of the editors, who throughout the years repeatedly complained about incomprehension on the part of readers. Among the people who submitted letters to the “Briv-Kastn” column, the majority were people under 35, lived in cities and small towns, and concealed their identity or asked not to provide their place of origin. Correspondents included both men – who wrote more frequently to the Folksgezunt – and women. Oversimplifying a little, we could state that the former were interested above all in problems associated with their sex lives, whereas female readers more frequently asked for advice concerning pregnancy or raising children. Among those who wrote to the editors, there were people who represented various worldviews. Letters were submitted by factory workers from Łódź and Białystok, those engaged in the activities of socialist circles, doubting and lost young people who had rejected the dogmas of their parents but failed to determine ones of their own, as well as people of profound religiosity, participants of Hasidic groups, Talmudists, etc. A considerable part of the correspondence, although prompted by individual needs, dealt with subjects that were relevant from the perspective of the general society. For example, one of the recurrent themes was tuberculosis. In “Briv-Kastn,” requests to provide a diagnosis of this illness on the basis of the most stereotypical symptoms were repeatedly made (persistent coughing, phlegm, blood in the saliva), and the editors made a great effort to reassure readers and convince them that in the era of modern medicine this disease was not equivalent to a death sentence.Footnote ²⁸ Moreover, the column also featured lesser questions regarding common ailments of varying degrees of inconvenience. There were also letters with a considerable emotional charge, which described true human ordeals resulting from a lack of access to medical assistance or common ignorance. The editors on at least one occasion responded to a letter from a victim of sexual harassment, although they failed to provide psychological assistance to the reader (“Briv-Kastn,” Folksgezunt 1925, 2:62).Footnote ²⁹ There were also letters from people who complained about violence motivated by anti-Semitism.

The flood of questions concerning specific ailments overwhelmed the editors, who were forced to answer letters that frequently numbered more than two pages, and to discuss a few or even a dozen or so health-related questions that were only remotely related. There are indications that readers sought advice in urgent matters, but the editorial policies regarding the order of responses were not always clear. On the one hand, instances of apology for the delay in responding appear. On the other hand, it was obviously easier to manage a large number of letters by giving general answers to particular issues, although this method could not be instant nor provide immediate help. Nevertheless, the overwhelming scale of the challenge clearly exceeded the editors’ expectations and forced them to verify optimistic plans for regular correspondence. Moreover, not all readers felt satisfied with the explanations that they received, and they renewed their questions, this time seeking attention in a more radical way. The incoming inquiries resounded with criticism of the journal’s policies and hardheartedness on behalf of those responsible for providing answers. The editors entered into discussions with the letter writers, and explained somewhat impatiently that it was impossible to fully diagnose a disease without direct contact with the patient. In their responses, they would indulge in irony and sarcasm. A twenty-year-old resident of Łódź received the following answer: “Do not seek our advice about grey hair. It is not always a sign of wisdom!” (“Briv-Kastn,” Folksgezunt 1925, 3, 99). Another reader who suffered not so much from a disease but from naïveté did not receive any advice at all. Instead, the editors described his case in the following way:

This sort of tone provoked further complaints, and the pieces of advice sent to the editors by more genial readers included ones of the following kind: “in Briv-Kastn, let there be no castigatory answers and let not even stupid questions be derided.” (ibid., 15–16:257). However, the editors supported their position by expressing concern about the health and fate of gullible patients.

The editors who responded to correspondence were outraged by questions concerning so-called superstitions (eybergloybns). It is worthwhile to note that Folksgezunt covered the subject of folk medicine in separate articles, which encouraged readers to send and submit medical curiosa. The pioneers of ethnography, who themselves counted physicians among their number, perceived the health-related beliefs as a part of the people’s heritage. In many cases the motivation for preserving folk remedies was also the desire to dig down to their “rational core” and learn how to use them in modern medicine.Footnote ³¹ However, in the contact with the readers practical considerations were given higher priority than ethnographic or cultural aspects. Detailed knowledge about modern health practices was supposed to reach the Jewish masses, and in the long run completely eradicate everything that was not supported by clinical experience. Among the letters that were submitted to the “Briv-Kastn” column, many contained unconventional – especially traditional medical – interpretations. Therefore there was, out of necessity, an ethnographic aspect to correspondence with readers. The editors who were responsible for this column were usually able to detect superstitions, although the lack of methodological preparation for studying folklore and the air of superiority that accompanied their medical didacticism precluded a more multi-faceted approach to the subject. A question from a “Reader from Podbrodzie” (the Vilna region) about the presence of animal brains in the diet of child was dismissed as “foolishness” by the editors (“Briv-Kastn,” Folksgezunt 1924, 11:315).Footnote ³² The latter reacted in a similar way to the doubts of a resident of Vilna about feeding a baby by a menstruating woman (ibid. 1926, 22:368).Footnote ³³ In both cases, we may discern clear influences of early medicine, especially the theory of the four humours which determined the form of medical culture and the health-related views of Jews in Poland before the partitions.Footnote ³⁴ Among numerous other questions of this kind,Footnote ³⁵ the issue of acne/pimples recurred frequently, being repeatedly mentioned by readers – using many different synonyms – and appearing in letters submitted from many regions of Poland. Doctors were amazed to discover that such problems were associated with men’s sexual lives, inter alia with zakhtsianke (whim) (ibid., 1925, 3:99) yetser-hore-blotern (ulcers of bad inclinations) (ibid., 1926, 11:258; tayve-kretslekh (scabies of desire) (ibid., 1924, 3–4:88); and froyengenitung (attraction to women) (ibid., 1923, 5–6:35). According to the correspondents, pimples were evidence of sexual arousal, and visiting prostitutes was supposed to combat them. The editors attempted to convince the readers about the harmfulness of such argumentation. However, it is worthwhile to note that this argumentation was also common among Christians, and it was testimony to the impact of pre-modern ideas about the relationship between morality and sin, and health and disease.Footnote ³⁶

The editors of Folksgezunt made a great effort to combat errors and misconceptions resulting from inappropriate reading matter. This applied especially to the question of onanism and nocturnal emissions – themes which had been classified by folk culture and religious traditions as sins. In the dramatic statements of readers, one may perceive echoes of the former ethical literature as well as of modern books strongly criticized by the editors. The latter responded a number of times to readers about the pointlessness of “apparatus” which supposedly prevented nocturnal emissions, described in Dr. Fraenkel’s book entitled Shomer ha-Briyut (The Protector of Health). They also had a very critical attitude toward a series of articles entitled “Yugnd-Zind” (The Sin of Youth), which appeared in Der Yidisher Hoyz-Doktor. The same kind of argumentation was applied to a broad spectrum of questions. In issue 11/1923, the editors described in detail the case of a patient who suffered from epilepsy. He had first sought the medical assistance of a tzadik in the vicinity of Tarnów, and then spent a fortune on treatment which was advertised in newspapers. Eventually, he sought help in a book entitled Rafel ha-Malach (Rosenberg Reference Rosenberg1911) – a typical collection of traditional segulot.Footnote ³⁷ Questions relating to advice found by readers in the Makrobiotik written by Christoph Wilhelm Hufeland (1762–1836) also seem very interesting. This is testimony to the extent to which the theories of this author, especially the ones which are propounded in the above-mentioned book, which was translated into Hebrew,Footnote ³⁸ penetrated into the medical awareness of Eastern European Jews. The recommended reading list that readers were advised to consult contained – apart from back issues of Folksgezunt – books by Jewish doctors, including a pocket-sized book published at the beginning of the twentieth century, Zayt Gezunt by Dr. Gotlieb, as well as a handbook for mothers entitled Der Arumgang un Flege fun a Zoygkind by Dr. G. Ritter (Reference Ritter1926), available at the Warsaw central office of the TOZ.Footnote ³⁹

It was not just medical problems that were tackled in the “Briv-Kastn” column. A number of times each year, the column also featured content attesting to the editors’ commitment to the idea of Jewish cultural autonomy and their attachment to Yiddish as a national language. Tsemakh Szabad participated in the work of the Yidishe Folkspartey (the Jewish People’s Party, the Folkists), which he represented in the Polish parliament. As far as ideological and family-related aspects were concerned, he remained associated with the milieu of supporters of modern Yiddish culture. His son-in-law was Dr. Max Weinreich, a philologist and a Yiddish researcher who headed the Yiddish Scientific Institute (YIVO) in Vilna. Szabad himself was among the founders of the Institute and devoted his energy to it, contributing to the creation of the image of Vilna as the capital of Yiddishland.Footnote ⁴⁰ In their responses to readers, the editors praised letters written in correct language, but derided the use of borrowings from Polish or Russian, which were not considered normative. In one of the responses, the editors pointed out that the “editors of a Polish periodical will never react to a letter written in Yiddish,” making a clear request not to use Polish in correspondence with Folksgezunt (“Briv-Kastn” Folksgezunt 1926, 22:367) . Efforts to use consistent medical terminology, made especially on courses for Jewish nurses, were frequently praised in the periodical. The editors’ policy undoubtedly resulted in the emergence of a periodical that was an emanation of sophisticated Jewish high culture, in its diasporic and Yiddishist variants. However, there were some problems, since sometimes linguistic confusion was in evidence in the correspondence. The editors provided the following answer to a reader’s question (M.R. from the town of Łapy): “Let the reader not feel offended that we will not give him any advice about aching ovaries (veytokn in eyershtokn), which prevent him from sleeping at night. Only women have ovaries” (ibid. 1925, 6:198).Footnote ⁴¹ In many other cases, the editors mocked not only human naïveté but also readers’ inability to express themselves in their native language.Footnote ⁴²

It is worth noting that a few years after the restoration of the Polish state, both the publishers (of Jewish press) and their readers were already expressing their affiliation with the new uniform political area of Poland. Russian ceased to appear in commercial advertisements, although we can assume that a larger number of adult Jewish readers living in Lithuania and Belarus were acquainted with the language of the dissolved empire rather than with Polish. From the first issue onwards, the very term Poland became associated with the reborn political entity, and not limited to the lands of former Privislansky kray.Footnote ⁴³ The process of distributing journals within Polish borders did not encounter serious obstacles, therefore they were able to reach Jewish readers from Vilna, Warsaw, and Lemberg alike, and in this way contribute to redefining Polish-Jewish identity. However, letters written by OZE activists from various European countries were still being sent to the editors of the Folksgezunt, and the “Briv-Kastn” column featured recurrent questions from readers from Lithuania (Kowno/Kaunas and smaller towns), and Latvia (mainly Riga and Jakobstadt). One of the most interesting questions was one submitted by a resident of Jerusalem (who concealed his identity under the pseudonym Ish Hasid), who sought advice on contraceptives. However, the majority of readers originated from the cities and small towns of the Second Polish Republic. Although in the first years of the periodical’s existence, residents of the former Grand Duchy of Lithuania and such major centers of Jewish life as Warsaw, Lwów, and Łódź dominated among correspondents, with the passage of time, letters sent from smaller provincial towns from all other parts of Poland, such as Płock (Masovia), Zakopane (Tatra Mountains) or Chorostków (Podolia) increased in numbers, ceasing to be mere curiosities. Letters written in Polish were not uncommon – contrary to the hopes entertained by the editors – but answers were always provided in Yiddish.

The twin column “Meditsinisher Briv-Kastn” (Medical Mailbox)Footnote ⁴⁴ was featured in the Warsaw biweekly Der Doktor, which appeared in the years 1929–1933 under the editorship of Dr. Mordecai Lenski (1890–1964). Lenski was a graduate of medical departments in Warsaw and Moscow, and a well-known author of popular-medical books: a handbook for mohels (1931) and a general guide to family healthcare (1920/1921). He had a private internal medicine practice in Warsaw, which he advertised in his periodical but he also treated sexual disorders and offered psychoanalysis. Moreover, he also had some experience in the media, as he had worked for a few years for the daily newspaper Haynt, in which he presented the series “Meditsinishe Shmuesn” (Medical Conversations). The subtitle of his periodical was Vokhnblat [or Tsveyvokhn-blat] far populere meditsin un higiene. As in the case of Folksgezunt, the periodical was addressed to broad layers of the Jewish community. The introductory article, Tsu di Lezer (To the Readers), did not leave any doubt that the basic aim of the periodical was to reach ordinary people, who were entitled to feel lost when confronted by the intricacies of modern medicine:

In the introductory article, the editors did not announce directly that they would copy the idea of the “Briv-Kastn” section, although they were probably aware of the immense popularity of the original. Therefore, in the Warsaw periodical, contact with readers also assumed the form of short enumerated responses to specific questions concerning various aspects of medicine. The “Meditsinisher Briv-Kastn” column appeared regularly from issue no. 2 (1929) onwards, and usually occupied the final or the penultimate page of the periodical. Correspondence with readers was conducted in a way that was not emotionally engaged. Readers received succinct answers; apart from pseudonyms and the names of localities (of residence), usually no fragments of the readers’ letters, not even brief ones, were cited. In exceptional cases, a quoted question (onfrage) was distinctly separated from the editors’ answer (tshuve). The tone of the explanations of the editors of Der Doktor was basically neutral, and seemed to be more in keeping with the norms of medical consultations, unlike the irony-laden answers of the editors of Folksgezunt.

The questions that were submitted to the Warsaw periodical reflected the same problems and concerns that were expressed in the correspondence directed to Vilna. The majority had doubts and problems associated with men’s sex lives, venereal diseases, pregnancy, raising children, and diseases that were considered fatal (e.g. tuberculosis). There was also a relatively large number of miscellaneous, less serious but nevertheless burdensome problems, ranging from aching teeth to excessive perspiration of the feet. Sometimes the editors made the effort to arrange the problems that were discussed into groups of themes. In a part that included “general answers” (algemeyne tshuve), the editors set forth their position on issues that were mentioned by an exceptionally great number of readers in densely-typed text. And so, inter alia, onanism and nocturnal emissions, impotence, haemorrhoids or anti-frostbite agents were dealt with in this section. Then the editors went on to discuss particular questions. However, the column was organized in a better way than the Vilna original. The editors did not justify their choice of the correspondence that they had decided to respond to in print; they did not make any promises and did not polemicize with the readers. If they ever asked readers to refer to articles printed in back issues or to write down questions concerning various fields of medicine in separate pages of a letter, they did so in a separately printed introduction to the column. The vast majority of the questions and answers printed in Der Doktor had to do with the individual problems of those who were sick. Obviously these explanations were seldom exhaustive, most probably due to the lack of space and overall character of the column, but the reader was entitled to expect explanations concerning specific questions. Moreover, on occasion, the editors refused to provide an answer, under the pretext of an inability to diagnose “at a distance.” Not only did they explain which medication was a remedy for this or that ailment, but they even printed Latin-Polish formulae supplemented with remarks about application (in Latin script).Footnote ⁴⁵

At a certain point other columns began to appear in Lenski’s periodical, in which readers described health problems in the hope of receiving assistance from the editors. In these columns, letters were quoted much more extensively; more space was also accorded to responses and an attempt was made to strike a balance between an individual and a general tone. This tended to be the case with letters from women. Their correspondence was published under the common title “Intime Shmuesn mit di Lezer” (Intimate Conversations with Readers), which alluded to a series of articles that the editor-in-chief had devoted to the problem of sexual frigidity. Possibly the idea of a separate column on women’s psychology emerged from Lenski’s professional interest in sexology and psychoanalysis.Footnote ⁴⁶ On the other hand, the column Lezer-Winkl (Readers’ Corner) was supposed to be of a more general nature. Starting from issue no. 3 (1929), letters “from readers to readers” were also sporadically published, forming a sort of platform which facilitated seeking assistance by the general public, and at the same time solving problems that the editors were unable to deal with.Footnote ⁴⁷

The editorial style of Der Doktor differed from that of Folksgezunt. The periodical had considerably higher standards, both in terms of style of expression and adherence to modern norms of spelling and punctuation. The editors also attempted to familiarize readers with medical terminology in Yiddish by publishing an occasional series known as “Meditsinish Verter-Bukh” (Medical Dictionary). This glossary appeared for the first time in issue no. 7 (1929) next to the “Mailbox,” and this arrangement persisted later on. In their responses to readers, the editors consistently used Yiddish, except in the case of medical/pharmaceutical terms, although we may conjecture that there were people among the readers who mainly used Polish (as the Latin spelling of their names was retained).Footnote ⁴⁸ However, in the editors’ responses, there were no admonitions or allusions concerning language-related choices, and, moreover, the Jewish medical terms were very frequently supplemented by their Polish equivalents and the majority of the names of medications recommended by the editors were provided in their original language (especially if this was Latin).

Lenski’s weekly was in circulation for a brief period of time. Nevertheless, it cannot be referred to as an ephemeral periodical. Its presentation was brilliant as far as visual aspects were concerned; the editor-in-chief sought not only to maintain a high standard of articles but also cared about their appeal. In comparison with the journal from Vilna, Der Doktor had a more legible layout, illustrations and photographs of better quality and generally made an impression of a neatly prepared magazine. It could have been a result of the editor’s personal financial engagement in the project or simply better perspectives for the printing industry in such a metropolis as Warsaw. The fact that the correspondence section adhered to this particular formula seems to have been a completely deliberate choice. In the course of a few years, the answers provided in the “Meditsinisher Briv-Kastn” prompted thousands of further letters, although it is difficult to ascertain the extent to which this column proved to be a success. The problems that were mentioned in the correspondence tended to repeat themselves, and the advice that was offered recurred and became predictable. However, it seems that this column contributed to the success of the enterprise as a whole, i.e. the very fact of its publication. At the moment when the column made its début – which happened to be the second issue of Der Doktor – the editors were already able to print a response to a question submitted by a “regular reader” (after a mere two weeks of the existence of the periodical!). In the following year of the periodical’s existence, the editors provided a brief summary of this correspondence, offering, inter alia, the following remarks:

Although initially the advice section was accompanied by a relatively low number of advertisements, this state of affairs changed in the second and third year of the existence of the column. At that point, various kinds of advertisements began not only to surround the correspondence with the readers, but even penetrated into the columns of the text, thus distorting them and introducing visual disorder. This change attested to the fact that the “Mailbox” had become one of the most important, if not the most important, parts of the periodical. Its value was appreciated by readers – and especially by advertisers. The pages of the “Meditsinisher Briv-Kastn” featured advertisements for remedies for those ailments which readers sought information about most frequently in the letters. However, the promotional content was markedly different from the answers that were provided by the editors.

Conclusion

The “Briv-Kastn” (Mailbox), which had appeared for more than a decade in the Folksgezunt, and the “Meditsinisher Briv-Kastn,” which featured in Der Doktor, were exceptional phenomena – to a certain extent. They clearly extended beyond their formula and constantly furnished the editors with evidence that their path of enlightening the Jewish masses in matters of health was a legitimate one. They were not mere footnotes on the last page. In the eyes of the readers, they were perceived as extensions of doctor’s offices, although it was not always the case that their role was defined in such a way by the editors themselves. This issue was a frequent source of controversy in the Folksgezunt. For many readers, it was the opportunity to receive professional medical advice rather than to read in-depth articles that constituted the main incentive to read the periodical. Readers living in the province were probably confronted with a limited choice of medical options – even narrowed in some circumstances, such as the language barrier, fear of embarrassment, or social scandal. The editors themselves raised the lack of medical advice as the main reason for bringing this format available to broad patient populations. We may assume that the embarrassment might have been an issue not only in a shtetl, but also in semi-closed orthodox communities from such cities as Warsaw or Łódź. However, it seems comprehensible that most of the readers who shared their problems with the editors basically sought another medical alternative. They were eager to consult with the journals despite being in regular contact with doctors and medical institutions, particularly if the treatment was not providing expected improvements.

It is difficult to ascertain whether the intense work of the editors yielded results in the educational dimension. The answers provided to individual questions, which were sometimes excessively comprehensive and actually directed to a wider readership, failed to meet the requirements of numerous letter-writers. The same problems, which the readers described in a moving way when both periodicals were initially published, recurred incessantly throughout the columns’ “lifetime.” Perhaps the popularity of the “Mailboxes” translated into a (greater) number of subscribers, copies sold, or advertising outlets. The readers entrusted the editors with life decisions and occasionally seemed more willing to trust a writer than a regular doctor. Even the frequency with which the already clarified issues were repeatedly raised in the correspondence may indicate that the group of recipients of these journals was not limited to direct subscribers or casual readers. Evaluating the educational dimension of any press endeavors requires a great degree of caution, This time, however, we come across more than a few symptoms of success.

Therefore, it is thanks to the intensive work of readers and editors alike that we have access to extremely interesting material, which includes a total of over ten thousand responses. This tells us a great deal about the premises underlying the emergence and activity of Jewish popular-medical periodicals in Poland, about the strategies of reaching readers, about the problems that were caused by the regularly-incoming correspondence, and about the benefits of this correspondence. It also tells us a great deal about the recipients of the advice themselves: who they were, where they were from, and what kinds of diseases most frequently prompted them to contact the editors of the periodicals. When we look closely at these medical sha’alot u-teshuvot, we can perceive a group of Jewish residents of major cities and provincial towns who had difficulty establishing contact with doctors and who did not yet trust their advice. The readers seemed to respect the authority of the editors of both periodicals. The letters that they submitted are filled with emotions, feelings of fear and powerlessness toward the diseases that they faced. On the other hand, the same group of people expressed quite a modern attitude toward human life. Their concerns regarding fertility and antiseptics indicate a growing affirmation of the ideal of a small family among the Jewish town dwellers. Their inquiries in the field of paediatrics show an actual spreading of awareness of proper childcare. What seems even more striking is that the readers were interested not only in treatment-related matters, but also invested much effort to acquire advice on aesthetic issues: grey hair, spots, excessive perspiration – in other words, on problems that preoccupy the people of modernity.

In 1912 Avraham Kotik wrote the following words: “It seems that there is no other People that would seek medical assistance as often as the Jewish people. When one doctor fails, they flock to another one, then to a third one, carrying a volume of prescriptions” (Kotik Reference Kotik1912). Similar statements frequently recur in Jewish medical periodicals, although they seem to be merely an example of a deep-rooted self-stereotype.Footnote ⁴⁹ They express an uncritical view on how the Jewish population behaves in the face of health problems, especially in comparison with peasants and lower classes of the Christian society, as well as a sincere care of the wellbeing of their own people. Meanwhile, thanks to the “Briv-Kastn” columns, we can take a closer look at readers’ ideas about diseases, and perceive such phenomena as the uninterrupted presence of early medicine and ethics in the culture of the Ashkenazi Jews and their openness to new forms of therapy, even ones whose efficacy had not been clinically verified. From the body of ideas that were expressed in the letters to the editors, there emerges an image that was typical of Central and Eastern Europe of this period, which saw the introduction of modern models of health care, but in a society that, to a large extent, remained attached to models inherited from earlier generations.