Massena Was More Than a Blood Libel

In recent years, Massena’s place in American Jewish memory has been revisited—often narrowly focused on the 1928 blood libel accusation. But few outlets, Jewish or otherwise, have examined the deeper civic and interfaith history that came before and after that painful episode. This piece aims to expand that conversation, as this story from rural upstate New York holds national relevance. I’m grateful to share it here, during Jewish American Heritage Month, as a fuller portrait of Jewish life in a town too often remembered only for its worst moment.

Massena, New York, holds a unique place in American Jewish history — one often remembered for injustice. While perhaps not as infamous as General Ulysses S. Grant’s 1862 General Order No. 11 — which sought to expel Jews from portions of Mississippi, Kentucky, and Tennessee — Massena is the site of the only known instance of a blood libel accusation in American history.

On September 21, 1928, just days before Yom Kippur, a false claim spread that a local child had been kidnapped and murdered by Jews for ritual purposes. Rabbi Beryl Brennglass of Adath Israel was summoned to the police station and questioned by the town’s mayor, W. Gilbert Hawes, about the accusation. Though the girl was soon found unharmed and the rumor discredited, the incident left a lasting mark on the community. While Mayor Hawes issued a public apology — and the Buffalo Jewish Review later ran a headline on October 12, 1928, reading ‘Massena Jews Satisfied with Apologies’ — for many, the accusation endured in both local and national Jewish memory as a rare but chilling reminder of the dark possibilities of rural American antisemitism.

Since 2019, the story has been revisited by outlets ranging from Aish.com to The Jewish Standard, The Forward, and The Times of Israel.

But injustice is not the whole story.

Recently, while giving a history talk in Auburn, New York, I was asked about the Jewish history of Massena. Aside from the blood libel story, I realized I knew little. Yet based on my research into more than 20 small-town Jewish communities since 2020, I suspected there had to be more — and there is.

Long before 1928, Massena was home to a small but resilient Jewish community that built a meaningful civic and religious life.

In 1897, Rosh Hashanah services were held in a local Baptist church. In the early 1900s, the Massena Observer published stories relating to Jewish holidays and Jewish retailers announced store closings in observance of the High Holidays, a public affirmation of faith. By 1912, organized Jewish worship had begun to occur more regularly, meeting in spaces like the Odd Fellows hall, a schoolhouse, the town hall, and the Universalist church.

The community’s civic presence was equally real. During World War I, Massena’s mayor personally helped lead a campaign to aid Jewish refugees in Europe, showing that interfaith solidarity was not just possible but publicly embraced. In 1919, Massena’s Jewish congregation, Adath Israel, purchased and converted a Congregational church into a synagogue, with the town newspaper urging residents to support this “worthy cause.”

These stories reveal a Massena where Christian and Jewish neighbors often cooperated, supported each other’s institutions, and built lives side by side.

The 1928 blood libel incident was real and terrible — but it was an interruption of a longer, richer history, not the sum of it. Earlier in 1928, the local Massena Observer reported that, “It is the duty of the modern Jew to cherish the festival of Passover. It will make him a better Jew and a better American.” Notes also ran for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and in October a piece explored Jewish mourning customs.

In 1954 when Adath Israel expanded its space, Massena’s Mayor Stowell Fournia called the completion of the project ‘another milestone in the advancement of Massena.’ He added, ‘I wish your synagogue continued growth and prosperity and fellowship during the years to come.’

Adath Israel remained until 2012. By this time Massena had been losing population for over 40 years.

Today, as national debates over antisemitism grow louder—drawing in college campuses across the country—and as the United States becomes increasingly polarized, we risk losing sight of the deeper histories that bind communities together. While headlines remind us that antisemitism remains a real threat, American Jewish history, including places like Massena, has also long included stories of solidarity.

Remembering Massena’s full history matters because it challenges all Americans to think more carefully about what this country has been — and what it still can be.

It reminds us that mutual aid and respect across lines of difference have, for generations, been not impossible ideals, but real — if at times fragile — parts of communal life.

As we reflect this May during Jewish American Heritage Month, we should remember the worst chapters — but also the better ones.

In Massena and in countless other towns, the story of Jewish life is multifaceted and has been for generations. Long before World War II, there are many now fading stories of interfaith building, belonging, and believing in a shared civic future.

That memory, too, deserves to be honored.