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A personal perspective on our present moment.

Jan 16, 2021

The events of January 6 in Washington DC disturbed me. I've wanted to write something in response for a few days now, but haven't been sure what to say. I've read a lot of great pieces of writing since then. They illuminated the terror of the moment, the trauma of the siege, the wounding of democracy and the cowardice of the enablers.

I asked myself what I have to say about an event that terrorized a nation. My answer? I guess all I have to say is that I'm scared. But importantly, I'm also resolute.

This piece is a call to wake-up. And it's a call I make as a Jew. To quote Bari Weiss (which I will do multiple times here), "we find ourselves in another moment in Jewish history at a time of great need and urgency". So to all of you, my friends of Jewish and non-Jewish backgrounds, I hope this piece is read as a prompt for further engagement, because to sit by idly as the temperature rises goes against everything I've ever been taught. So with that, let's try to get our bearings.

Our difficulty appreciating the gravity of the moment

In late September, on the eve of Yom Kippur and in the intensity of the lead-up to the election, I wrote that we can be terrible at understanding the tragedy of a moment while it slowly unfolds around us. I used that point in time to reflect on the prior few months and ask how bad are things? Now, with the benefit of more hindsight, I'm asking the same question. Looking back at the quaint conflicts of September 2020, having just watched armed terrorists roam the halls of the US Capitol, I ask myself, how bad are things now? Clearly, not very good.

As we observe what's happening in this country, how do we rationally surmise that there isn't more violence on the way? The prompt for writing the earlier referenced piece was the following quote — from a survivor of Sri Lanka's civil war — which still kicks me in the nuts every time I read it. I’m sharing it again here, because it’s taken on more meaning with the passage of time:

"I lived through the end of a civil war. Do you know what it was like for me? Quite normal. I went to work, I went out, I dated. This is what Americans don’t understand. They’re waiting to get personally punched in the face while ash falls from the sky. That’s not how it happens. This is how it happens. Precisely what you’re feeling now. The numbing litany of bad news. The ever rising outrages. People suffering, dying, and protesting all around you, while you think about dinner. If you’re trying to carry on while people around you die, your society is not collapsing. It’s already fallen down.”

The proverbial punch in the face doesn't feel so remote now. The escalation in threats and violence has gone parabolic, and mirrors some of the insanity we're watching in financial markets and our communities respectively; Bitcoin and COVID charts are now interchangeable. Just like the speculative mania of markets and daily calamity of the pandemic, I don't see how this escalation ends without real trouble. Investors are going to get burned, people are dying by the thousands every day in the US, and unfortunately, people are already getting hurt in the political struggle.

What January 6 meant to me

A few things struck me while watching coverage of the events at the US Capitol. The first was footage of the rioters chanting "Hang Mike Pence" and reports that they had brought the means and intent to do so. The second was that there was a diversity of symbolism and conspiracy cosplay, but that the different groups were united in their anti-semitic views. As a scholar of American anti-semitism states (which I recommend reading in full):

“the anti-Semitic images from the Capitol on Wednesday serve as timely reminders of the precarious place Jews occupy in different corners of the United States”.

Reflecting on the events, this is what stuck with me, and became what I wanted to write about. There are groups of motivated extremists who have transitioned their hateful rhetoric into real world violence. And if Mike Pence can be the target of actual and legitimate threats, what does that mean for the Jewish community who form part of the source code of their hatred?

Voltaire’s insight from 250 years ago is bandied around a lot nowadays: “those who can make you believe absurdities, can make you commit atrocities”. Until a few weeks ago, it always sounded trite. I now hate reading it because January 6 made me realize it’s shockingly true.

My difficulty dealing with antisemitism

Two years ago, on the eve of Passover, I wrote something that effectively said I didn't know how to engage with the topic of antisemitism. I was struggling to reconcile my Jewish upbringing and the concept of "Never Again" with a general ambivalence towards anti-semitism that didn't directly impact me. My concern then was driven by the wave of anti-semitic attacks on people and synagogues in Brooklyn, the UK, France and elsewhere across Europe.

It's quite numbing to read the statistics about anti-semitic attacks, from the non-violent but threatening behavior, to the violent and murderous. In Europe, the head of the European Jewish Congress went as far as saying in 2018 that "anti-semitism has progressed to the point of calling into question the very continuation of Jewish life in Europe." In the US, we need look no further than shooters storming synagogues in Pittsburgh (2018, 11 dead), California (2019, 1 dead), or torch-bearing protesters chanting "Jews will not replace us" in Charlotesville:

In the last two years, something has changed. And the last few weeks force us to address it head-on.

The present moment

2021’s temperature scares me as an individual, and for the purposes of this piece, as a Jew. It scares me because it feels like a number of conditions are coalescing as parts of the world explode in anger and polarization.

These conditions include: (1) emboldened and violent right-wing groups who have found their way out of the fringe and into the mainstream and halls of power, (2) a progressive movement that's been hijacked by truly illiberal forces, (3) a recent history of violent and murderous acts against Jews, and (4) an economic situation that can only be described as dire for both sovereign countries and many individuals i.e. everyone is broke.

Jews today are too privileged for the left, not white enough for the right, and too "globalist" for the common person. While none of these sentiments are true, they're pervasive. Anti-semitism itself is ancient, consistent and complex, and is difficult to summarize, but the following provides useful context:

“Antisemitism has been called history’s oldest hatred and it has shown itself to be remarkably adaptable. It is carved from – and sustained by – powerful precedents and inherited stereotypes. But it is also taking on variant forms to reflect the contingent fears and anxieties of an ever-changing world."

I saw Bari Weiss speak once, and it was one of the most powerful speeches I've ever heard. I am of a similar age to her, and one thing she said stuck with me: Jews of our vintage take our current privileges and prosperity for granted. We assume that the strength of the State of Israel, and our relative comfort in western democracies are the new status quo, when everything about our history tells us that this is the absolute exception, not the rule.

When we acknowledge that our current standing is an historical aberration, we must confront the realization that our status is fragile. This may sound alarmist, but I don't see how it can go un-said in the context of the meaningful ramp-up of anti-semitic attacks in the last two years, and the current fracturing of US society. "Camp Auschwitz" and “6mwe” (“6 million wasn’t enough”) t-shirts and neo-Nazis in the US Capitol are a warning sign from the right; the events of the last two weeks are a wake-up call. To borrow the title of Weiss' recent column, we must Stop Being Shocked.

My personal journey

New York is my temporary home, and in my ~three years in the city, I've tried to reacquaint myself with my Jewish identity. What does it mean to be Jewish, especially when living away from family and its traditions? I'm not sure, but I'm glad I'm engaging with the question. I recently read Hannah Arendt's "The Origins of Totalitarianism". I've been struck by the force of her intellect. As a Jew who escaped Europe in 1941, she has something to relevant to say about the topics in this piece:

"The behavior patterns of assimilated Jews... created a Jewish type that is recognizable everywhere. Instead of being defined by nationality or religion, Jews were being transformed into a social group whose members shared certain psychological attributes and reactions, the sum total of which was supposed to constitute "Jewishness." In other words, Judaism became a psychological quality and the Jewish question became an involved personal problem for every individual Jew."

The concept of Judaism becoming a psychological quality gave me pause. As a relatively assimilated member of my respective communities, have I reduced my heritage to this? Perhaps, and maybe seeking a place for my Judaism had become my own “involved personal problem”. Until now, I felt like I had been dealing with this problem in a relatively calm period without much urgency. But in the context of the conditions discussed in this piece, I feel a greater sense of urgency or a greater pull to answer these questions.

I think the rise of anti-semitism must become an involved personal problem for every individual Jew. Writing this piece may not mean much, but it's a start. It’s an acknowledgement that it’s a problem that troubles me personally. If I'm wrong and it's not a time to be particularly concerned as a Jew, so be it; I hope I'm wrong, and feel free to call me alarmist. But if I'm not, my education and upbringing is yelling that now is not the time to be silent.

Bringing it together

While the catalyst described is American in nature, the trends I described feel universal and relevant whether you’re reading this in the US or Australia.

To my Jewish readers, I think this topic is one that needs to be addressed amongst friends and colleagues alike. And just as importantly, I hope this piece hits a note with my non-Jewish readers. It may be surprising to hear me speak so directly about my Judaism. It comes up in our conversations, usually when discussing our Friday night Sabbath traditions, or explaining what's different about Jewish weddings. But the reality is that the content of this piece is a critical part of the Jewish experience that rarely gets mentioned. I am proud of our customs and traditions, and gladly describe them to you, but it's the ever-present danger that should be noted too.

Anti-semitism is as old as classical history itself. It is the only cause that the extremes on both sides of the political spectrum can agree on. And for me, it's personal. I write to a group of diverse people I respect. I try to write honestly about what's on my mind, because I think that’s what you’re interested in. And right now, as I watch the violence escalate, I can't shake the feeling that it's a worrying time for our people.

I'm concerned by what I see, and clear on what we can do: name it. I hope this piece is a prompt, and whether you want to speak to me about it, or share it with someone you think needs to hear it, I hope it prompts you too.

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If you’re interested, the following provide relevant further reading:

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Photo by Andy Feliciotti

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