The enduring figure of Superman, a global icon of strength and justice, emerged from the creative minds of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, two Jewish high school students from Cleveland, Ohio, in the early 1930s. Their vision for a mighty hero was deeply rooted in the adolescent power fantasies common to their Depression-era lives. Yet, it was also profoundly shaped by a fervent desire for liberation from the social and economic hardships they experienced. More fundamentally, their Jewish heritage and the escalating tide of antisemitism, both within the United States and globally, served as a potent wellspring of inspiration for the character. The burgeoning comic book industry itself became an unexpected sanctuary for Jewish illustrators and writers during this period. Many found traditional avenues of creative expression, such as newspaper strips and advertising, largely inaccessible due to pervasive discrimination. The comic book field, however, offered a unique environment where a significant number of publishers were also Jewish, thereby mitigating the prejudice encountered elsewhere and fostering a space where deeply personal and communal experiences could be infused into their work. This confluence of societal barriers inadvertently channeled a substantial pool of creative talent into a new and burgeoning medium, demonstrating how systemic discrimination can, paradoxically, shape cultural landscapes by concentrating specific demographic groups in industries with lower barriers to entry. The very DNA of the superhero genre, which would later become a dominant cultural force, was thus forged in the crucible of prejudice, making it inherently receptive to narratives of the outsider and the oppressed. This creative act was not merely an inspiration but a profound act of cultural resistance. The description of Superman's genesis as a "Jewish reaction formation to the rise of Nazism and domestic antisemitism" suggests a conscious or unconscious creative defiance. Art and popular culture can serve as robust responses to real-world threats and anxieties, offering a form of psychological and ideological counter-narrative. The escalating danger of antisemitism and Nazism fueled a deep-seated need within Siegel and Shuster to imagine a figure capable of confronting such overwhelming evil, transforming their vulnerability into a universal symbol of strength and protection. Superman's very existence, therefore, stands as a testament to the human spirit's capacity to create hope and agency in the face of despair, presenting a fantastical wish-fulfillment against the stark realities of oppression. His background is inextricably linked to the stories of his creators and the escalating plight of their people, and his role as a symbol of hope is a powerful testament to the character's inspirational power.
The narrative of Superman's origin, the desperate escape of infant Kal-El from a dying Krypton, establishes a foundational and enduring refugee archetype. His parents, facing inevitable planetary doom, send him alone in a tiny rocket ship to save him, a poignant echo of the biblical story of baby Moses set adrift in a basket to escape Pharaoh's genocidal decree.
This ancient narrative finds a chilling contemporary parallel in the Kindertransports of the 1930s, which saw hundreds of Jewish children evacuated from Nazi-occupied Europe to the relative safety of the British Commonwealth. The destruction of Krypton, therefore, functions as a powerful metaphor for the loss of a homeland, drawing direct parallels to Germany, a place many Jews once called home before the cataclysm of the Holocaust. The inherent vulnerability of a child cast adrift, coupled with the extraordinary resilience required to survive and ultimately thrive in a new, alien world, profoundly mirrors the struggles and hopes of real-world refugees. While some scholars, notably Martin Lund, argue that the direct connection between Krypton's destruction and the Holocaust is a retrospective interpretation, given the nascent stages of the genocide when Superman was first conceived, the undeniable resonance of this narrative for later generations of Jewish Americans, for whom the Holocaust became a central defining aspect of their identity, cannot be overlooked. This enduring resonance speaks to the evolving power of cultural narratives to absorb and reflect historical trauma. The tension between Siegel and Shuster's original creative impulses regarding Krypton's destruction and its later interpretation as a Holocaust metaphor reveals a crucial aspect of cultural studies. The meaning of cultural artifacts is not static but evolves, shaped by subsequent historical events and the collective memory of the audience. As the full horror of the Holocaust became known and deeply embedded in Jewish-American identity, the narrative of a destroyed homeland and a lone survivor gained profound new significance, even if not explicitly intended by the creators. Superman's origin story, regardless of its initial design, became a powerful vehicle for processing historical trauma and affirming survival for a community grappling with unprecedented loss. The explicit identification of Superman as a "refugee" and Clark Kent's statement "I'm an illegal immigrant" highlight a critical distinction beyond mere immigration. This emphasizes the difference between voluntary migration and forced displacement due to existential threats. Krypton's unavoidable destruction compelled Kal-El's flight, making his status unequivocally that of a refugee. Superman's narrative subtly critiques restrictive immigration policies and xenophobia, particularly relevant given the historical context of Jewish refugees being turned away from the United States during the 1930s and 1940s. By portraying a beloved hero as someone who understands the vulnerability and fear of migrants, the character advocates for compassion and the moral imperative of offering haven, transforming a fantastical origin into a powerful socio-political statement and a transformative force in shaping collective memory.
A compelling argument for Superman's Jewish resonance lies in his connection to the ancient Jewish legend of the Golem. Scholars such as Arie Kaplan and Harry Brod frequently draw this parallel, noting the Golem as a powerful, often misunderstood being crafted from clay by a rabbi in Prague with the singular purpose of protecting an oppressed Jewish community from violent pogroms. Superman's early portrayal as a "champion of the oppressed," relentlessly fighting corruption, social injustice, and authoritarianism, aligns strikingly with the Golem's protective mandate: his immense strength and unwavering commitment to defending the powerless mirror the Golem's raw, physical might. Furthermore, Kaplan posits that Superman's Kryptonian name, Kal-El, which he interprets as "All that is God" or "voice of God" in Hebrew, reinforces this deep connection to Jewish tradition and its mystical protectors. The Golem is described as a "Jewish hero born of necessity", symbolizing the struggles of outsiders protecting the vulnerable. This is not merely a mythical figure but a cultural response to historical persecution. The Golem legend embodies a collective psychological need within Jewish communities for a powerful, almost miraculous, protector in times of existential threat. The historical experience of pogroms and vulnerability fostered the creation and perpetuation of such a protective archetype. Even if Siegel and Shuster did not consciously draw from the Golem legend, the shared cultural consciousness of Jewish people, shaped by centuries of persecution, would naturally incline them towards creating a character who fulfills a similar protective role. Superman, therefore, becomes a modern iteration of an ancient yearning for a champion. However, this connection is not without scholarly debate. Martin Lund offers a significant counter-argument, suggesting that the links to the Golem are "extremely tenuous," pointing out that the Golem legend often culminates in a rampage and destruction, a characteristic that bears little resemblance to Superman's inherently benevolent nature. Lund emphasizes that Siegel and Shuster's primary influences were pulp science fiction stories, even noting instances of plagiarism from works like Philip Wylie's The Gladiator, suggesting a more secular and genre-driven inspiration than direct Jewish folklore. The debate between direct Golem influence and pulp fiction influence highlights the complex layers of creative inspiration and interpretation. A confluence of conscious artistic choices, unconscious cultural heritage, and subsequent audience interpretations often shapes cultural products. The causal relationship is not a simple linear path from Golem to Superman. Instead, Siegel and Shuster's immersion in both popular culture and their Jewish heritage created a fertile ground where a character embodying themes of protection and justice could emerge, resonating with existing archetypes even if not directly intended. The "Jewishness" of Superman may lie less in explicit design and more in his capacity to evoke and fulfill deeply ingrained cultural narratives and aspirations within the Jewish community and beyond, demonstrating how meaning can be co-created between creators and their audience.
Superman's iconic dual identity, particularly his unassuming civilian persona as Clark Kent, serves as a potent metaphor for the intricate immigrant experience of assimilation and the necessity of a hidden heritage. In the 1930s, many Jewish Americans, facing societal pressures and rising antisemitism, actively sought to "pass" or seamlessly blend into the dominant American culture, often by downplaying or concealing aspects of their original identity. Clark Kent, frequently depicted as a "weak, nerdy, bespectacled man," has been interpreted as a "tacit Jewish stereotype," who then transforms into the quintessential "all-American He-Man" that is Superman. This profound duality encapsulates the inherent tension between a perceived "old world" identity and the fervent desire for "hyper-Americanness," a process of acculturation driven by both internal aspirations and external societal pressures. The concept of "passing" reveals assimilation as more than a cultural choice; it was a socio-psychological strategy for survival and acceptance in a hostile environment. The immense pressure on marginalized groups to conform, often at the cost of suppressing their authentic identities, is evident. The pervasive antisemitism and xenophobia of the era created an imperative for Jewish immigrants to outwardly embrace American norms, even if it meant maintaining a "hidden self." While Superman's transformation from Clark Kent to the American hero represents a fantasy of successful integration, it also implicitly acknowledges the psychological burden and potential loss associated with shedding one's heritage. This duality speaks to the nuanced and often painful process of cultural adaptation, where gaining acceptance can necessitate a degree of self-erasure. The argument suggests that Superman's Jewishness resides not in overt cultural references but in his embodiment of the very possibility of leaving a specific history and culture behind to embrace Americanization fully.
This was a significant and often challenging pull within Jewish American communities during a period marked by escalating American antisemitism. Martin Lund's observation that Superman's "hyper-Americanness and lack of discernibly Jewish traits were part of what, in his time and place, made him such a Jewish-American character" presents a profound paradox. For many Jewish immigrants, demonstrating extreme patriotism and embodying quintessential American values became a defensive mechanism against accusations of foreignness or disloyalty, a way to prove their belonging. The external pressure of antisemitism and the internal desire for full acceptance led to an overcompensation in adopting American identity. Superman, by becoming the ultimate "American," inadvertently became a powerful symbol of Jewish-American integration, precisely because he seemed to transcend any specific ethnic markers. This highlights how identity can be performed and how the very absence of overt ethnic traits can, paradoxically, become a defining characteristic of a specific immigrant experience, reflecting a unique path to belonging.
While some scholars, such as Harry Brod, argue that Clark Kent represents the antisemitic world's distorted view of Jewish men, and Superman exists to counter this stereotype by demonstrating strength and manliness, critics like Noah Berlatsky counter that antisemitic portrayals of Jewish men typically focused on greed and grotesque features, rather than the clean-cut, good-natured demeanor of Clark Kent, complicating this specific interpretation.
From his earliest appearances, Superman engaged, sometimes subtly and sometimes overtly, with the escalating global threat of authoritarianism and antisemitism. Early Superman comics depicted him fighting against leaders and regimes that unmistakably recalled Hitler and the Nazi party. A compelling instance from Superman Archives volume 3 in 1941 showcases the Dulkian American Sports Festival, a thinly veiled allusion to the infamous 1936 Berlin Olympics. In this narrative, the Dulkian consul, Karl Wolf, is presented as a chilling Hitler-like figure, with his athletes performing a salute eerily similar to the "Heil Hitler" pose. Superman directly confronts and battles these Dulkians, explicitly targeting Hitler's wrongdoings and thereby influencing readers worldwide. This particular comic marked the first direct instance of Superman attacking the actions of Hitler against the Jewish people. The real-world impact of Siegel's work was undeniable, even provoking the ire of Josef Goebbels, the Nazi minister of propaganda, who attempted to discredit Siegel and America in
Das Schwarz Korps, a weekly Nazi SS newspaper, punned on Siegel's name to mock him. This reaction underscores the perceived threat Superman posed to the Nazi regime's ideology. Goebbels' outrage and public attack on Jerry Siegel is a powerful indicator of Superman's impact. This demonstrates the Nazi regime's recognition of the ideological threat posed by popular entertainment. Even seemingly innocuous cultural products can carry significant political weight and challenge dominant narratives. Superman's portrayal of "what is wrong in the real world", even in a fantastical context, directly undermined Nazi propaganda, prompting a defensive and aggressive response from a regime that meticulously controlled information. Cultural influence, often dismissed as mere entertainment, can be a potent, albeit "soft," weapon in ideological conflicts, capable of shaping public opinion and fostering resistance in ways that even totalitarian states recognize and fear. Later issues of Superman comics moved beyond allegory to directly address the horrors of the Holocaust.
Comic Superman (1987) Issue 54, for example, sends Superman to the past, where he confronts Auschwitz survivors and the ruins of the Warsaw Ghetto, destroying a train carrying survivors and intercepting an atomic bomb. Even more explicitly, Superman: The Man of Steel #80-82 (1998), released for Superman's 60th anniversary, brought the "very real Nazi threat that had been left unspoken" in earlier comics into sharp focus. In these issues, Clark Kent infiltrates the Jewish community in Nazi custody in Poland, experiencing firsthand the horrific treatment of Jews, before taking Nazi supplies for the Jewish resistance, stopping a cattle car bound for Treblinka, saving Lois Lane, and joining the Jewish resistance during the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. The progression from subtle allegorical confrontations in early comics to explicit depictions of the Holocaust and direct engagement with the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising in later issues reveals a significant shift. This illustrates the increasing willingness of comic creators and publishers to directly address sensitive historical events as public awareness and the collective memory of these events evolved. As the full scale of the Holocaust became undeniable and its centrality to Jewish identity grew, the character of Superman was adapted to confront these atrocities more explicitly, moving from general anti-authoritarianism to specific anti-genocidal action. Popular culture, including comics, serves as a dynamic mirror of societal consciousness, reflecting and shaping public understanding of historical trauma and moral imperatives. Beyond the Nazis, Superman's role as a "champion of the oppressed" and his willingness to directly confront "racists in the jaw" extended to battling domestic hate groups like the Ku Klux Klan, further cementing his role as a literal warrior for social justice.
The idealistic narrative of Superman's arrival in America stands in stark contrast to the grim realities faced by Jewish refugees seeking asylum in the United States during the 1930s and 1940s. This period was defined by highly restrictive immigration policies, largely a product of a national climate steeped in isolationism, xenophobia, pervasive antisemitism, and economic insecurity following World War I. The United States, notably, had no designated refugee policy, meaning those fleeing Nazi persecution were forced to navigate an agonizingly slow and demanding immigration process under strict national quotas based on their country of birth, not their citizenship. This bureaucratic labyrinth tragically thwarted the efforts of hundreds of thousands of Jewish refugees, many of whom never found a haven. America often proclaimed itself a "nation of Immigrants," a "Melting Pot," and a beacon for "your weak, your poor, your tired". Yet, the reality of its immigration policies towards Jewish refugees during the 1930s and 1940s was one of profound restriction and rejection. This highlights the stark contrast between a nation's self-proclaimed ideals and its actual practices, particularly during moments of humanitarian crisis. Pre-existing xenophobia, antisemitism, and economic anxieties, exacerbated by wartime paranoia, directly led to policies that tragically failed to align with foundational American values of welcome and compassion. Superman's fight for "truth, justice, and the American Way" takes on a poignant, almost ironic, dimension when viewed against the backdrop of the very real "American Way" that denied entry to his creators' kin. His idealism, therefore, becomes a subtle yet powerful critique of the nation's historical failings. Furthermore, a pervasive fear of "enemy agents" and "spies" infiltrating the country, sometimes fueled by unproven claims and amplified by government officials, led to a tightening of these already stringent restrictions. This included the cruel measure of denying visas to immigrants who had close family still trapped in Nazi territory, a policy that effectively punished victims for their circumstances.
The widely publicized case of Herbert Karl Friedrich Bahr, accused of being a Nazi spy, was actively leveraged by government agencies and the media to bolster arguments against accepting more refugees, creating a climate of suspicion and fear. Public sentiment mirrored these policies; a Gallup poll taken just two weeks after Kristallnacht in 1938 revealed that a staggering 72% of Americans opposed allowing a larger number of Jewish exiles into the country. The widespread fear of "fifth column" spies and the highly publicized case of Herbert Karl Friedrich Bahr were deliberately used as fuel for the argument against accepting refugees by government agencies. This illustrates the historical pattern of national security concerns being manipulated and amplified to justify exclusionary immigration policies, often at the expense of vulnerable populations. The government and media strategically leveraged a handful of alleged or actual spy cases to cultivate a climate of fear, directly contributing to the tightening of immigration restrictions and the denial of asylum. This tactic not only resulted in immense human suffering by denying haven but also actively demonized an entire group of people, illustrating how fear can be manipulated to override humanitarian considerations and perpetuate systemic prejudice, making Superman's later identification as an "illegal immigrant" a deeply resonant and critical statement. Despite this overwhelming public antipathy and governmental inaction, private citizens and dedicated Jewish and Christian aid organizations stepped in, providing crucial financial, logistical, and sponsorship assistance to thousands attempting to flee. However, the most infamous and tragic illustration of these policies remains the 1939 incident of the German ocean liner St. Louis, carrying 937 Jewish passengers, being turned away from the port of Miami, forcing its return to Europe, where over a quarter of its passengers later perished in the Holocaust.
The academic landscape surrounding Superman's Jewish identity is a rich tapestry of compelling arguments and nuanced counter-interpretations. Scholars such as Arie Kaplan, author of From Krakow to Krypton: Jews and Comic Books, and Harry Brod, in Superman Is Jewish?, robustly argue that Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster's Jewish heritage was a fundamental, defining aspect of their creation, profoundly influencing Superman's character and the themes explored in the early comics. They frequently cite striking parallels, including the Moses narrative, where an infant is sent to safety from impending doom; the Jewish legend of the Golem, a powerful protector of the oppressed; and even the perceived Hebrew resonance of Superman's Kryptonian name, Kal-El. Conversely, Martin Lund, in his work Reconstructing Superman, offers significant counter-arguments, suggesting that many of these popular claims are, in fact, retrospective interpretations. Lund contends that "Kal-El" is a "nonsense name" in Hebrew, and that Siegel and Shuster were more directly influenced by the burgeoning genre of pulp science fiction than by Jewish religious texts or history. He asserts that the creators showed little overt investment in the Jewish religion or culture of their "old world parents". Lund's central argument is that Superman's "Jewishness" lies not in explicit cultural references but instead in his embodiment of "hyper-Americanness" and the process of assimilation, reflecting the powerful societal push for Americanization that many Jewish immigrants experienced amidst rising antisemitism. Lund's argument that the "Judaization" of Superman tells us something about how central the Holocaust has become to Jewish identity in America today is a crucial observation. It highlights how collective memory and identity are continually reconstructed and projected onto existing cultural narratives.
The profound and traumatic impact of the Holocaust on Jewish-American identity led to a re-reading and reinterpretation of earlier cultural works, imbuing them with themes of destruction, survival, and resilience that resonated with the post-Holocaust experience. The meaning of cultural icons like Superman is not fixed at their creation. Still, it is a dynamic, evolving process influenced by historical context, audience reception, and the shifting landscape of communal identity. This highlights the power of cultural memory to shape how we understand our past and present. The concept of Superman as an "assimilationist fantasy" moves beyond a simple binary to explore the nature of Jewish identity in America. For many Jewish immigrants, achieving the American dream involved not just economic betterment but also cultural integration and the shedding of perceived "foreignness." The societal pressures of Americanization and the desire to "fit in wherever they could" led Siegel and Shuster to create a character who embodies this process of seamless integration. Superman, by becoming the quintessential "American," paradoxically represents a deeply Jewish-American narrative of successful acculturation. This suggests that Jewish identity can be expressed not only through overt cultural or religious markers but also through the very act of transcending them to achieve universal acceptance, reflecting a unique historical path to belonging in the American mosaic. This ongoing scholarly debate underscores the inherent complexity of interpreting cultural artifacts, demanding a careful distinction between creator intent, the broader cultural context of creation, and the evolving reception and reinterpretation by subsequent audiences.
Ultimately, regardless of the precise intentions of his creators, Superman has transcended his specific origins to become an enduring and universal symbol of hope, justice, and belonging for marginalized communities across the globe. His fundamental role as a "champion of the oppressed" resonated profoundly with Depression-era readers seeking both escape and a glimmer of hope, and continues to inspire those who feel like outsiders, including ethnic and religious minorities, LGBTQ+ individuals, and immigrant communities worldwide. Superman's unwavering kindness, often dismissed as "old-fashioned" in a cynical world, and his steadfast commitment to "truth, justice, and a better tomorrow" offer a powerful counter-narrative to pervasive cynicism. He embodies "hope through action," demonstrating that idealism is not passive. Still, a catalyst for intervention, inspiring people to believe that seemingly insurmountable problems can be solved and empowering them to take action themselves.
While Superman initially became a symbol of "the American Way,” later interpretations and modern comics portray him as a universal symbol who "cares and saves people all around the world and not just America". The character's symbolic evolution from a nationalistic icon to a global humanist figure is evident. As global interconnectedness increased and the complexities of international politics became more apparent, the character's narrative adapted to reflect a broader, more inclusive vision of justice that transcends national borders. Superman's enduring appeal lies in his adaptability to contemporary social anxieties and aspirations, allowing him to remain relevant as a symbol of hope for a diverse global audience, embodying a "citizen of the world" mentality that resonates with the universal experience of seeking safety and belonging. The explicit statement that Superman "brings hope through action. He's not empty words. He goes in and gets stuff done" redefines hope from a passive sentiment to an active, empowering force. True hope, as embodied by Superman, is not merely wishful thinking but a catalyst for intervention and change. Superman's consistent and powerful interventions against injustice instill confidence in others and inspire them to act, transforming abstract hope into tangible outcomes. The character teaches that idealism is not naive if it is paired with unwavering commitment and action, offering a model for how individuals and communities can confront overwhelming odds and strive for a "better tomorrow". He empowers the marginalized not just by saving them, but by showing them the possibility of their agency, making him a symbol of collective empowerment. Modern interpretations increasingly emphasize his immigrant identity, portraying him as a global protector who cares for all people regardless of nationality, seeing the entire world as "one big family". This expansive vision includes his willingness to intervene in international conflicts and advocate for undocumented persons, showcasing his deep understanding of vulnerability and his commitment to a universal sense of justice that transcends national borders.
Superman, a creation born from the Jewish immigrant experience of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster in the tumultuous 1930s, profoundly embodies the Jewish refugee identity. His origin story, a desperate flight from a doomed planet, resonates with biblical narratives of escape and modern historical events like the Kindertransports, reflecting the forced displacement faced by millions. While scholarly debate exists regarding the direct influence of Jewish folklore, such as the Golem legend or explicit Holocaust parallels, the character's core function as a "champion of the oppressed" aligns with a deep-seated communal yearning for protection against persecution. The duality of Clark Kent and Superman further mirrors the complex process of assimilation, where a hidden heritage is maintained beneath a veneer of "hyper-Americanness," a survival strategy adopted by many Jewish immigrants navigating a xenophobic society. Early comics, and increasingly explicit later narratives, demonstrate Superman's confrontation with antisemitism and Nazi-like regimes, highlighting the power of popular culture as a form of ideological resistance, even provoking the ire of real-world propagandists. This stands in stark contrast to the harsh realities of American immigration policies of the era, which often denied haven to Jewish refugees, revealing a poignant discrepancy between national ideals and policy. Ultimately, Superman's enduring appeal transcends these specific historical and cultural contexts, evolving into a universal symbol of hope through action, inspiring marginalized communities worldwide to believe in a better tomorrow and to find agency in the face of adversity. His journey from a refugee from Krypton to a global protector reinforces a timeless message of compassion, justice, and the inherent value of every individual, regardless of their origins.
References
Brod, Harry. Superman Is Jewish? How Comic Book Superheroes Came to Serve Truth, Justice, and the Jewish-American Way. New York: Free Press, 2012.
Kaplan, Arie. From Krakow to Krypton: Jews and Comic Books. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2008.
Lund, Martin. Re-constructing the Man of Steel: Superman 1938-1941, Jewish American History, and the Invention of the Jewish-Comics Connection. New York: Routledge, 2016.
Siegel, Jerry, and Joe Shuster. Superman Archives. Vol. 3. New York: DC Comics, 1991.
Simonson, Louise, Jon Bogdanove, and Dennis Janke. Superman: The Man of Steel #80-82. New York: DC Comics, 1998.
Ordway, Jerry, Dennis Janke, and Karl Kesel. Comic Superman #54. New York: DC Comics, 1987.
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