In September 1864, in the midst of the Civil War, something remarkable happened in Leavenworth.

A group of Jewish residents – many of them immigrants – gathered with Col. Champion Vaughan of the 4th Kansas Cavalry and Christian community leaders, including pastors and judges, to dedicate the first synagogue in Kansas. They toasted religious liberty, trial by jury and President Abraham Lincoln, who had less than two years earlier issued the Emancipation Proclamation. One speaker declared that the Jewish people across the world would “hold him in grateful remembrance for all time.”

Today, the congregation no longer exists. The former synagogue, B’nai Jeshurun, was sold and converted into apartments in 1974. Its founding date is often misremembered – even on the historical marker – as having taken place in 1866. But newspaper archives confirm the dedication occurred two years earlier, in September 1864.

That error may explain why the true story of this groundbreaking Kansas congregation, and the spirited public debate it sparked, has remained hidden for so long.

The story began not just with goodwill, but with a controversy. In June 1864, a Methodist minister in Leavenworth, Rev. Daniel P. Mitchell, criticized local Christians who had donated to support the construction of a Jewish house of worship. He claimed from the pulpit – and later in a published letter titled “A Hebrew on the Hebrews” – that no Christian could morally support what he considered a false religion.

Judaism, in his view, was a “bad moral cause,” comparable to a stillhouse or gambling hall. He argued that generosity, if not tied to promoting Christ, was meaningless.

His remarks prompted a powerful public reply in the Leavenworth Bulletin, signed only “HEBREW.” The Jewish writer accused the minister of sectarian bigotry and defended the growing synagogue as a place that would provide education, reduce vice, and inspire civic virtue.

He challenged the pastor directly: “We don’t think as Mr. M. thinks – so we are morally wrong.” He then called for charity, pluralism, and the freedom of conscience guaranteed in a democratic society. “Any true Christian,” he wrote, “will feel glad to see his fellow citizens enabled to worship God according to the dictates of their conscience.”

The writer also asserted that actions – not creeds – should define moral character. Quoting, “By their fruits shall ye know them,” he offered to publicly defend Judaism against the minister’s attacks and framed the synagogue as a moral anchor for a frontier town, not a threat.

When the dedication finally came in September, it was not a quiet or defensive affair. The synagogue’s founding celebration lasted into the night, complete with music, speeches, and dinner. The published list of toasts offers a rare glimpse into the spirit of the moment. One toast honored “our friends who have nobly assisted us in our work,” another celebrated the virtue of charity and another still praised “The mothers and daughters of Israel.”

Vaughan toasted the free press. And Henry Sykes, a member of B’nai Jeshurun, responding to a toast to “The President,” honored Lincoln as a liberator. “The Jewish people,” he said, “would hold him in grateful remembrance for all time” for his Emancipation Proclamation.

This was a moment of convergence: Jewish and Christian, immigrant and citizen, sacred and civic. In the middle of the most brutal war in our country’s history, Kansans came together to bless a building – and in doing so, to bless the fragile pluralism of American democracy.

That building no longer functions as a house of prayer. In April 1974, just months before its closure, the congregation welcomed a group, United Methodist Women, for a synagogue tour. Still, B’nai Jeshurun was a place of hospitality and interfaith friendship. The spirit of that 1864 gathering still speaks.

The Jewish writer who sparred with Mitchell never signed his full name. He did not seek credit or praise. What he wanted – what he insisted on – was dignity. The dignity to worship freely. The dignity to be seen as a moral equal. The dignity of belonging, not just in faith, but in Kansas civic life.

Today, as Jewish institutions face rising threats and other faith communities worry about their place in public life, the story of B’nai Jeshurun’s founding is more than a historical footnote. It is a reminder that religious freedom is not just a constitutional ideal. It is a lived tradition: sometimes fragile, sometimes challenged, but always worth defending.

In 1864, Kansas didn’t just tolerate its Jewish community. It toasted it.

Let’s remember it.

Austin Reid Albanese is a historian and writer based in Rochester, New York. He documents overlooked stories of Jewish life, interfaith cooperation, and civic memory in small-town America. Through its opinion section, Kansas Reflector works to amplify the voices of people who are affected by public policies or excluded from public debate.