Crime Syndicates Without Borders: How the Italian and Jewish Mafias United Against the Nazi

Jewish and Italian crime syndicates joined forces to battle American Nazis in the first half of the twentieth century—what we can learn from their fight.

BY: MICHELLE KRASOVITSKI

During winter break of last year, my family and I took a road trip that stretched from Arizona to Nevada, passing through Utah along the way. The bulk of the trip took us to some of the most wondrous natural places on earth; Antelope Valley and the Grand Canyon in Arizona, and Bryce Canyon in Utah. After stopping at the Valley of Fire State Park in Nevada, we made our way to arguably one of the most wondrous man-made places on earth: Las Vegas. The city of sin. The city where whatever happens in it, stays in it… or however it goes. 

Whereas before, we had been hiking on orange rock, looking over chasms thousands of meters deep and thousands of years old, we were now walking along a street lit up by neon signs and whirring animatronics. On one side of the strip, there stood an Eiffel Tower replica, lighting up in different colours when evening came. The next building over was the Flamingo hotel, where pink flamingos grazed within a sprawling courtyard. On the other side of the strip, there were the Bellagio Fountains, coming alive every half hour to dance in rhythm to Sinatra songs. 

Photo by Michelle Krasovitski, December 2019// THE UNDERGROUND

And this man-made strip, intended for hedonism but ending up a rather family-friendly tourist destination, would not have been possible were it not for the mafia.  

Mentioning “mafia” to anyone instantly brings up images of a cotton-mouthed Marlon Brando in Coppola’s The Godfather, irritated that someone came into his house on the day of his daughter’s wedding. Or of Goodfella’s Joe Pesci, throwing a fit over being called funny. Bringing up “mafia” can spark up images of a milky-eyed Johnny Depp playing a sinister Whitey Bulger in Black Mass or, more recently, a swollen Tom Hardy snarling and drooling his way through Capone as the titular mafioso.  

Whichever gangster springs to mind—whether Italian, Irish, or Jewish; whether from a fictional family like the Corleones or a real one like the Genovese—their archetype is a clear descendant from the mafias that sprung up in America in the beginning of the twentieth century.

The Sicilian mafia—whom we may refer to as the “Cosa Nostra”—was first recorded in the United States in the 1860s, though it would be in the early 1900s that they would take on the form most familiar to us. Prohibition in the 1920s largely empowered organized-crime networks, as mobsters worked in obtaining and peddling illegal alcohol. And when Mussolini took power over Italy in the 1930s, he cracked down on mafia activity, effectively forcing many mobsters to flee to the States. 

Though every city, from Minneapolis to Chicago, has their own mafias, the most famous network of families are those that operate within New York City: the Five Families. The Five Families, born out of a power struggle between the Sicilian mafias in the beginning of the twentieth century, consist of the Bonanno, Colombo, Gambino, Genovese, and Lucchese. The families within The Godfather are loosely based on these five families, all of whom still operate to this day. 

But it wasn’t solely the Italians who were breaking up New York City into territories and having mafias helm control over each quadrant; the Jewish-American mobsters also began to come together during prohibition, namely, in the start of the Bugs and Meyer Mob, led by notorious mobsters Bugsy Siegel and Meyer Lansky. Like the Sicilians, the Jewish mob was focused on racketeering and bootlegging, making a name for themselves in the city as organized and violent enforcers. 

As outlined in Myron Sugarman’s book The Chronicles of the Last Jewish Gangster, there were many xenophobic sentiments within the Sicilian mafias, which resulted in little intersection between the Jewish and Italian mobs, as the Sicilians refused to do business with anyone Jewish. Charles “Lucky” Luciano, who would go on to head the Genovese family, disagreed with his community’s mentality and decided to engage with his Jewish counterparts. This is where he crossed paths with Meyer Lansky, and an iconic partnership was born. 

In addition to being eager to collaborate with individuals outside of his background, Luciano was a prolific mobster: so much so that two of the Five Families fought over who would get the opportunity to enlist him. As written in Sugarman’s book, Luciano had no interest in committing himself to the Sicilians, so he called upon Siegel to help him facilitate the murder of Joe Masseria, who at the time was the boss of the Genovese family. After successfully murdering Masseria, Luciano started the Commission, a mafia-governing body which included the Five Families and Chicago’s own Al Capone in its ranks. Unlike in previous mafia-governing syndicates, the Commission allowed for Jewish mobsters to participate in meetings. 

Siegel and Lansky quickly left their previous mob in order to join forces with some of Luciano’s associates to form Murder, Inc., a mafia composed of Jewish-American and Italian-American mobsters. 

Lansky and Luciano / Photos courtesy of the Mob Museum.

Before I go into the details of Murder, Inc., I should reiterate that this isn’t a fluff-piece meant to laud a syndicate of mobsters and gangsters. Mobsters are not valiant people; they part-take in racketeering, prostitution, illegal drug-dealing, and loan-sharking—a practice that largely preys on vulnerable people. This is, however, a look at the complex ways in which marginalized communities unite in fight against unequivocal evil. 

With that out of the way, we can move on to Newark, New Jersey, and the tens of thousands of American Nazis that called the port-side city their home. In the 1930s, as Hitler was gaining power over Germany, Newark became home to a large population of German-Americans—45 000 of whom voiced vocal support for Hitler and the Nazi party. This support was so vast and vehement, it was the subject of a 2003 book by Warren Grover called Nazis in Newark.  

In his book, Grover outlines the danger Jewish residents in Newark faced, as the local Nazis marched down the streets dressed in Nazi uniform, attacked merchants, screened antisemitic films, and hung anti-Jewish propaganda posters in hopes of dissuading residents against voting for any Jewish candidates in upcoming elections. It’s a scene one wouldn’t associate with North America, yet it was a horrifying reality for many Jewish people in New Jersey. 

Unfortunately, Newark was far from a unique blimp in America’s Nazi infestation: during the same decade, a Radio priest in Detroit by the name of Charles Pelley regularly called for Jewish people to be expelled from the country, while in New York, organized Brownshirts (in German: Sturmabteilung) sought to make their city a hostile environment for Jews. 

And it was in New York City that mobster Meyer Lansky, of Mob Inc. notoriety, organized a group of Jewish fighters to disrupt American Nazi events through physical confrontation; Nazis would often leave their gatherings bloody, bruised, and broken-boned. Sugarman’s book features an anecdote where Luciano approached Lansky, offering his full support and force in fighting the Nazis. At the time, Lansky declined, asserting that the Nazi infestation was a Jewish issue. 

In the neighboring state of New Jersey, Jewish gangster Abner Zwillman and boxer Nat Arno led their version of the Minutemen against the Nazis of Newark. The Minutemen held a different outlook on inclusion, as the group was composed of many Italian mobsters, in addition to the Jewish gangsters and boxers, who made up the majority. They were part of a widespread network of Italian and Jewish gangsters who fought diligently to quash the spread of anti-Jewish sentiment in the United States. 

In New York City, there were Lansky, Siegel, and Murder, Inc.; in Newark, there were Zwillman, Arno, and the Minutemen; in Minneapolis, there was David Berman, who organized his all-Jewish crime syndicate against Charles Pelley and the Silver Shirts, a Nazi group meant to mimic the Brownshirts of New York. Their intimidation worked: posters began to peel off the walls without being replaced and gatherings decreased in size out of fear of physical retribution. 

A decade after they organized against the Nazis, Luciano, Lansky and Siegel headed west, where, in constructing the Flamingo Hotel, they were part of the inception of the gambling hub Las Vegas is known to be today. 

Walking down the paved path of the Strip, heeled and feather boa-ed drag queens walking past me on one side; mimes, street-saxophonists, and other buskers walking past me on the other, it was surreal to think that decades earlier, the same people who envisioned this entertainment polestar of a city also organized and fought for their people when confronted with hatred.  

The cooperation between the Jewish and Italian mobsters isn’t completely overlooked in the mafia cinematic canon: the partnership between Luciano, Lansky, and Siegel, was depicted in the esteemed HBO show Boardwalk Empire, while the Newark Minutemen is an upcoming movie set to detail the events that took place in New Jersey in the 1930s. 

Though the cinema and literature of recent years have given nuance to the topic, we still tend to see the battle between good and evil as a rivaling set of ultra-pure ideologies. The fact that mafiosos, members of society who are known for senseless murders, assassinations, and political upheaval, organized efforts against the far-right may seem difficult to reconcile, yet it is necessary to do so. In a time when no one else stepped in—or were too afraid to do so—the mafia was there.  

And the unfortunate fact of the matter is: even almost a century later, Nazis are far from extinct. Only a couple of days ago, on Yom Kippur—the holiest day in the Jewish year—the neo-Nazi group “Nordic Resistance Movement” began to post antisemitic propaganda aimed at Jewish people in Sweden, Norway, Iceland, and Denmark. In the 1930s, one could go around tearing down posters or painting over them; in the twenty-first century, it’s not so easy. 

Reading through the history of the mob and their resistance against American Nazis, and learning about the recent Nazi uprisings in Scandinavia as well as in Charlottesville, USA, some questions spring to mind: who do we expect protection from—and from whom are we ultimately going to receive it?