
For the last 10 days, my beer-writing social feeds have looked like a wake for Schlitz.
Post after post mourned the once-mighty brewing giant that helped define American lager culture before collapsing into one of beer history’s most famous cautionary tales. Old commercials resurfaced. Vintage cans appeared. Former drinkers swapped stories about taverns, bowling leagues and fathers who drank “the beer that made Milwaukee famous.”
After about the 50th Schlitz post, I finally found myself wondering something else entirely:
What was Jewish about Schlitz?
Honestly, I expected very little.
ADVERTISEMENT
Maybe a Jewish distributor somewhere in the company’s history. Maybe a tavern owner or brewery salesman tucked inside Milwaukee’s old immigrant neighborhoods.
Instead, I stumbled onto a forgotten 1964 story from the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that opened an entirely different door.
The Schlitz executive almost nobody remembers
The article centered on Sol E. Abrams, a longtime Schlitz executive who spent nearly 70 years with the brewery and eventually rose to become vice president and general manager before retiring in 1961.
When Abrams died in 1964, Schlitz donated $50,000 in his memory to several Milwaukee Jewish organizations, including Mount Sinai Hospital, the Milwaukee Jewish Welfare Fund and B’nai B’rith.
Adjusted for inflation, that would equal well over half a million dollars today.
The article noted that Abrams had served on the board of Mount Sinai Hospital for 25 years and maintained deep ties to Milwaukee’s Jewish communal life.
Which means that while Schlitz marketed itself as pure mid-century Americana, one of the people helping run the company also spent decades helping shape Jewish Milwaukee behind the scenes.
That overlap feels especially fascinating now because Schlitz nostalgia usually focuses on the beer itself: the ads, the branding, the collapse, the retro cool factor.
Almost nobody talks about the people.
Beer, Milwaukee and Jewish life
Like St. Louis, Milwaukee’s brewing history has always been told through German immigration stories, blue-collar tavern culture and industrial expansion.
But Jewish Milwaukee existed alongside all of it.
Jews helped build businesses, hospitals, charities and civic institutions throughout the city during the same decades Schlitz became one of America’s biggest breweries.
Abrams appears to have lived directly inside both worlds.
And suddenly, what started as a random late-night internet rabbit hole became something else entirely.
Not because Schlitz was “a Jewish beer.”
It wasn’t.
But because Jewish stories have a way of quietly appearing inside almost every corner of American life once you start looking closely enough.
Even inside a cold bottle of Schlitz.
ADVERTISEMENT