by Jason Porath
Emmy was an improbable candidate for such a label. Although her father was the brilliant mathematician Max Noether, in her childhood she showed no particular facility with academics. Nevertheless, she stayed the course, going on to attend university classes, although, as a woman, she could only sit in on them. She was one of only two women out of a total of 986 students. She was eventually allowed to matriculate, graduate (summa cum laude even!), and go on to work—without compensation.
Her employer was the Mathematical Institute in Erlangen, where her father had also worked. There she taught classes, although her teaching style was, well, different (more on that in a bit). She loved talking and collaborating with her fellow mathematicians, and they loved talking with her. Many tried to help her secure a post that would pay, but she was always turned down because of her gender. One ally famously objected to the university’s gender segregation, saying, “This is a university, not a bathing house.” It was to no avail.
To be fair, as a teacher, she was tremendously difficult to follow. Whereas you might expect a math teacher to work out proofs using formulas and equations, Emmy took a more philosophical approach. She avoided doing any calculations, instead keeping more to abstract thought and theorems—in much the same way Ada Lovelace constructed theoretical models in her head. Her teaching was so conceptual that it often drove away classroom visitors, leaving her to crow: “The enemy has been defeated; he has been cleared out!”
Because of her limited income, she lived a very spartan life. She ate the same plain meal every day and lived in an untidy student apartment. Her outfits, described as having all the fashion of a country clergyman, were usually a mess. She was often covered in food stains, her blouse was usually rumpled, and her hair would always come undone in the middle of class. She was famous for carrying around a broken umbrella—because she never bothered to get it fixed. Some female students tried helping her out but could never get a word in edgewise.
Noether was fiercely protective of her students. A eulogy for her said she would take personal offenses with a laugh, but blow her top if you attacked “Noether’s Boys.”* She’d spend her little spare money on helping her less fortunate students and even opened her house to some (an act that would later come to haunt her). Even when some of her students wore Nazi uniforms to their lessons, the Jewish Noether continued teaching them regardless.
The rise of the Nazis spelled the end of Noether’s time in Germany. Some students had her expelled from the boarding house where she lived because of her interest in Russian mathematics—they said they did not want to live with “a pro-Marxist Jew.” When Prussian government officials found that she had offered her apartment as a meeting place for leftist students, they worked to have her fired.
Her work was even dismissed by extremists who wanted to separate the field into Jewish math and Aryan math. Yeah—that was a thing.
Sympathizers such as Albert Einstein brought her to the United States, but her time was short. Two years after coming to the states and getting work at Princeton University and Bryn Mawr College, Noether was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She died during an operation, and her cremated ashes were interred on the Bryn Mawr campus.
Her eulogists were a who’s who of the world of mathematics. Albert Einstein’s moving testimony, describing her contributions as “unselfish” and “significant,” was published in the New York Times. Others lovingly paid tribute to her giving, peculiar nature. Hermann Weyl described her as “warm like a loaf of bread” before admitting that “no one could contend that the Graces had stood by her cradle.”
However, there can be no greater tribute to Noether than her place in the reference books. Long described in her lifetime as “the daughter of Max Noether,” Emmy would be represented differently shortly after her death. Her famous father, as well as her other mathematician relatives, came to be cited in relation to her—the most prestigious member of an already prestigious family.
Ka’ahumanu
(C. 1768–1832, HAWAII)
Honolulu’s Queen of Controversy
It’s said that, on a long enough timeline, we become the very thing we once hated. Exhibit A: Ka’ahumanu.
The favorite wife of Kamehameha (the Hawaiian king who unified the islands under a single government), Ka’ahumanu came into her own only after she became a widow. At her urging, Kamehameha had created, before he died, the new position of kuhina nui—a co-regent akin to prime minister. The first person appointed to the new position was, as you can probably guess, Ka’ahumanu. Her first order of business: helping out women.
At the time, Hawaiian culture was ruled by religious Tabus, superstitious rules that often kept women in a subservient position. The least-beloved of these Tabus was one prohibiting men and women from eating together. So, as the most powerful woman in the country, Ka’ahumanu regularly broke out a banana and started eating it in the presence of the new king, Liholiho (making him quite uncomfortable). Soon thereafter, she worked up enough political alliances to strong-arm the king into abolishing that Tabu by publicly eating with her.
She didn’t stop there. She went on to forcibly destroy as many Tabus and religious idols as she could, although this led to some short-lived civil wars (which she, of course, won). By the time foreigners began to arrive in earnest, Hawaii was basically an atheist nation. With food plentiful and rules minimal, Hawaiians spent most of their time chatting and relaxing on the beach.
Their main form of entertainment was gossip, and few people’s lives were better fodder than Ka’ahumanu’s. While having multiple lovers was no big deal at the time, Ka’ahumanu brought this practice to a new level: at one point she kidnapped and forcibly married the king of Kauai—and his son. She dealt with jealousies and scheming rivals with a level of political craft that was second to none. The Hawaiians loved it.
Foreign missionaries, however, were not so comfortable with Hawaii’s lifestyle of idle joy and casual infidelity. Several New England pilgrims, led by Hiram Bingham, were intent on bringing this “fortification of Satan’s kingdom” into the light. They were aghast that Hawaiians had no jails, no jobs, no religion, no chores, and no clothes. Ka’ahumanu let the Mirthless (as the Hawaiians referred to Bingham’s group) teach literacy, which proved useful, but was less interested in religion: “We will accept no new gods,” she told them. “The gods brought only sorrow and unhappiness to our people.”
Everything changed when Ka’ahumanu suffered a series of personal losses. Her beloved husband, the aforementioned captive king, died suddenly. He was followed shortly thereafter by King Liholiho, who, on an impromptu visit to George IV in England, sickened and died, along with most of his party. Lastly, Ka’ahumanu’s younger husband, the son of the captive king, left her.
Suddenly, Ka’ahumanu was running things on her own. In her grief, she turned to Christianity.
Gradually, the Tabus that Ka’ahumanu had abolished were replaced by new ones. Clothing became mandatory, hula was outlawed, and loud displays of emotion—a Hawaiian trademark—were prohibited. This led to yet more civil strife, which Ka’ahumanu again quashed with her master statesmanship. When would-be assassins met to discuss killing her, she sent a messenger to tell them that she knew about the plot, that she was home without any guards, and that if they had the guts they should just do it now. Instead, they gave up.
Ka’ahumanu died in 1832. Dispensing with the traditional wailing and clamor usually associated with the deaths of rulers, the Hawaiians respected the wishes of their melancholy matriarch and let her be buried silently, as missionary custom dictated. But according to legend, after the funeral a select group of traditionalists, under cover of night, sneaked her body onto a canoe to reinter it far away . . . in the old ways.
• ART NOTES •
Ka’ahumanu is here depicted rebelliously eating a banana while simultaneously wielding Kamehameha’s spear (and symbol of authority). While her body is turned toward her husband, her head is turned to the missionaries.
On
the left side, we see Hawaiian women idly playing cards, a pastime that drove the missionaries nuts.
On the right, we see the missionaries covering naked beachgoers. In the background, amid many felled trees, is a church. The trees are indicative of all the sandalwood that was harvested for trade with foreigners (approaching on the boats).
Behind Hiram, a volcano is erupting, with explosive force similar to his sermons. This represents the wrath of the old Hawaiian gods, particularly the volcano goddess Pele. Under Ka’ahumanu’s reign, a woman named Kapiolani, recently converted to Christianity, rebelliously entered a sacred volcano and took Pele’s offerings to prove the old gods had no power. It was a big deal at the time.
Scattered on the ground around Ka’ahumanu are chipped and broken idols of Hawaiian gods.
Katie Sandwina
(1884–1952, AUSTRIA/UNITED STATES)
The Strongest Woman in the World
Max Heymann met his wife in unusual fashion. A circus acrobat in peak physical condition, Heymann entered a wrestling competition. Beat the opponent and win upwards of 100 German marks, they said. How hard could it be? The wrestler, after all, was a 16-year-old girl.
The next thing he remembered was the blue sky that filled his vision as he was being carried out of the ring by his opponent. She would later become his wife: Catherine Brumbach, better known as Katie* Sandwina.
He shouldn’t have felt bad—nobody else ever beat her either.
Katie was almost predestined for a life as a strongwoman. Herself born of the circus, she was the child of two giant circus performers (her father was six foot six, her mother six feet tall). Katie began performing as young as two years old, doing handstands on her dad’s arm. She grew to be a towering beauty and made a name for herself as an undefeated wrestler—until she met the strongest man in the world.
At the time, the man who laid claim to that title was a Prussian-born weight lifter named Eugen Sandow. His usual M.O. was to strut about in a fig leaf and sandals, showing off his impressive physique. The two came face to face in New York City after Katie, trying to expand her act, publicly issued a challenge for any audience member to lift more weight than her. To her shock and dismay, Sandow strutted forth from his seat and began to match her weight for weight. Eventually, she lifted 300 pounds over her head—and Sandow could only get it to chest level. She had won.
Overnight her life changed. The news made headlines across the country. She quickly took the name “Sandwina” as a tribute to Sandow (or perhaps a barb) and changed her circus act from wrestling to feats of strength. Some of her amazing accomplishments were:
• Juggling 30-pound cannonballs.
• Using husband Max as a surrogate rifle while running through various martial positions.
• Lifting horses . . . yes, horses.
• Balancing a carousel and 14 riders on her shoulders.
• Lifting a half-ton cannon onto her back.
• Bending iron bars and breaking iron chains.
• Lying on a bed of nails with an anvil on her chest—and having people hit her with a sledgehammer.
But far from being a masculine figure, she was seen by popular media as the epitome of a new kind of woman. They lavished attention on her measurements and height, the latter accentuated by her heeled boots and piled-up hair. She appeared even more feminine after giving birth to her son Theodore—even though she was performing tricks like the bed of nails up to and including the day she gave birth. The fawning press dubbed the child “Superbaby” and swarmed Katie for mothering tips. By two years old, he weighed 50 pounds—almost double the weight of an average baby.
Katie’s popularity gave her latitude and power to support causes she felt strongly about, and the one she put much of her weight behind was women’s suffrage. She became vice president of the suffrage group at Barnum & Bailey Circus, and many write-ups referred to her as “Sandwina the Suffragette.”
Although Katie had an impressively long career with the circus, she eventually retired, at age 64, still doing the same tricks she’d done her entire career. Afterwards, she opened a restaurant in Queens, New York. Her duties included running the restaurant, performing the occasional circus act for old times’ sake, and acting as bouncer. Often the inebriated men she’d toss out of her establishment returned and apologized after sobering up. Throughout this second act of her career, she maintained her girlish charms, tossing men out the door with nails painted and perfectly styled hair.
She died of cancer in her late sixties, the only battle she ever lost.
Gracia Mendes Nasi
(1510–1569, PORTUGAL/ITALY/TURKEY)
The Savior of the Jews
One of the cornerstones of being Jewish throughout the centuries has been the secure knowledge that someone, somewhere, is trying to kill you. Few instances of this bloodlust were more successful than the Inquisition. Far from being unexpected—despite what British comedians might have told you—the Inquisition was the outgrowth of a slow escalation in mob violence over many years. Spreading from Spain to Portugal, and eventually to Rome, the Inquisition was an almost inescapable force of terror for Jews.*
Almost inescapable, but not totally. Enter Gracia Mendes Nasi, to whom much of the world’s current Jewish population owes their existence.
Born Beatriz de Luna,* Gracia was one of the Portuguese conversos—Jews who were outwardly Christian but practiced Judaism in secret. This was a smart move. Jews in those days were blamed for a laundry list of the world’s ills: causing plague, poisoning wells, eating babies, you name it. The mere accusation of Judaism was enough to set off a witch hunt, and thousands were regularly dragged through the streets, crucified, and set on fire in impromptu pogroms.
However, the incalculable wealth of Gracia’s family made them less vulnerable to said attacks. With the Catholic Church exercising a ban on moneylending, Jews occupied an important role in European society, functioning as merchants and financiers where others couldn’t. Gracia’s silver-trading family, in particular, was welcomed by the Portuguese crown as one of only 600 Jewish Spaniard families granted indefinite asylum from the Spanish Inquisition. Gracia’s family was so rich that at one point they provided over half of the Portuguese crown’s income. They were even able to purchase special protection from the pope himself. They were not easily dismissed.
The crown turned a blind eye to their Jewish heathenism only for so long, though, and after the death of her merchant/rabbi husband,* Gracia took the reins and moved to Antwerp. She proved a natural at the job of merchant. Along with her brother-in-law Diogo, she swiftly established shipping routes across much of Europe, which she also used as an underground railroad. Alongside legitimate goods, she smuggled Jews from Iberia to Antwerp to Venice, and finally to the Ottoman Sultanate, where they’d be safe. She spent her free time visiting convents and creating a secret network of safe houses and messengers. When Diogo died, Gracia was fully ready to take on the responsibilities of their vast mercantile/smuggling empire by herself.
The opposition she faced upon stepping into the spotlight was intense. While the various political attempts to seize the Mendes fortune were easily enough handled by bribes, she had more trouble fending off attempts to seize her daughter Ana’s hand in marriage—and with it, her daughter’s inheritance. When one man offered to marry Ana off to a Catholic, Gracia privately considered having him beaten for the suggestion. When Queen Mary, sister of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, insisted repeatedly on marrying off Ana to a Catholic nobleman, Gracia said to Mary’s face that she would rather drown.
From there, Gracia only grew bolder. With the Inquisition officials bearing down on her, she left open ledgers around the house in Antwerp, making it look like she was coming back, and quietly moved to Venice. She began using her Hebrew name in public and funding the Jewish arts, particularly the translation and publication of Hebrew texts. Eventually, she moved to Constantinople, where she organized Jewish boycotts of Italian businesses from afar. She even trie
d establishing a fledgling Jewish state in modern-day Tiberias, Israel.
Gracia’s herculean efforts to shelter her people did gradually take their toll. In making enemies of so many monarchs, she found her ability to collect on debts compromised as the amount spent on bribes increased. Compounding matters was her sister Brianda,* who, feeling cut out of the picture, acted out by revealing Gracia to be a secret Jew and working with Inquisition figures to arrest her (it didn’t stick). By the end of her life, Gracia’s vast fortunes had dwindled significantly, although she was still quite wealthy.
None of this stopped Gracia from providing for her people until the end. In her final years, she established homes for the poor, constructed synagogues and schools, and even fed and sheltered sick and destitute Jews.
She died in Constantinople in 1569 and was promptly forgotten for centuries. It was not until the 20th century that her story once again came to light. Since then, Gracia Mendes Nasi has been heralded in lectures, museums, and books (like this one!).
• ART NOTES AND TRIVIA •
Gracia is here depicted showing her Christian side outwardly to the camera, while hiding her Jewish coins (silver) throughout. There are 18 coins scattered throughout the picture, what with 18 being a lucky number in Judaism. See if you can spot them all!
The book on the table is the Ferrara Bible, whose translation and publication she’s suspected to have funded.
The map in the ledger denotes the location of Tiberias, the site of her Zionist efforts.
Compositionally, all elements in the picture point toward Gracia, indicating her importance at the center of a vast web of disparate elements.
