Edito

Reactions to last week’s Jew-hunt in Amsterdam are hardly surprising. The match pitted well-trained players against each other, masterfully rehearsing a now perfectly integrated game plan. On the left of the pitch, the focus was on minimizing or denying the antisemitic nature of the events, reducing the situation to a brawl between hooligans, or even portraying the well-orchestrated outburst of violence as a legitimate reaction to the racist provocations of certain Israeli fans. On the right, Netanyahu once again forces the comparison by evoking Kristallnacht, his outrage invisibilizing the fact that this is not state-sponsored antisemitism, but a pathology secreted by today’s European societies. His rhetoric is in line with that of the reactionary forces of Europe, always quick to take advantage of any opportunity to howl at the invasion of migrants, and to pretend that Islamists are imposing their law on Europe. In truth, it’s something quite different, which both the far right and the far left are careful not to think about. The event therefore allowed everyone to find their position, without any gain in reflexivity.

Yet there was enough novelty here to offer food for thought, if only insofar as the event came to question the contours of Europe: what was played out in the streets of Amsterdam last Thursday night, was it a home match, or an away one? For years, it has been said that the Israeli-Palestinian or Israeli-Arab conflict should not be allowed to interfere in the internal political life of Europeans. That it would be an illegitimate and dangerous import. But how can we fail to see that this scene of Jew-hunting is an act of the conflict’s entanglement with our political reality, since it obeyed a classically European choreography?

For the Muslim immigrants who hunted down the Jews did so not in the manner of non-native elements, but in the purest tradition of the European pogrom. In fact, they felt so entitled and so “at home” that they did not hesitate to use state control mechanisms, checking passports to identify Jews. As for the latter, being Israeli on this occasion did not protect them from a typically diasporic experience, the very one that gives the Zionist project its justification.

Here, we must not obscure reality on the grounds that it is unpleasant. Some Jews, Israelis and others, have effectively forgotten the significance of the minority status of European Jews, and its implications in terms of attachment to the law and the defense of minorities. What better proof of the existence of what Bruno Karsenti calls the “Jews committed to force”, and of what it implies in terms of the repression of the European experience, than the fact that Jews can feel so “at home” in Europe that they feel authorized to adopt a provocative and assertive attitude, to flaunt a crass nationalism and racism? Paradoxically, as they distance themselves from European Jewish consciousness, their rhetoric and actions become indistinguishable from those of European reactionaries. We need to be able to denounce them outright, to criticize them in the name of that European Jewish condition they have forgotten. Only then can we clearly condemn attempts to justify the hunting of Jews by the provocations of a minority of agitators. They are, after all, nothing more than the reactivation of an old European thought pattern: seeing the very existence of Jews as a provocation.

The text by Henriette Asséo and Claudia Moatti that we are publishing this week is surprisingly topical in the wake of the events in Amsterdam. For the paradoxes in the aftermath of October 7 that these two great historians identify and analyze are clearly in evidence: how is it that antisemitic violence fuels antisemitic hatred throughout the world? Why does part of the left describe reactionary, antisemitic movements as progressive and anti-fascist? And above all, what explains the apparent difficulty of the European conscience to name and fight against what denies its most fundamental principles?

In a different vein, our second text of the week looks at the influence of Jewish fantasy on cinema, although this too is a question of strange repetitions and spectres of European memory. On the occasion of the mahJ exhibition “The dybbuk. Phantom of the lost world” (until January 26), David Haziza examines the cinematic posterity of this creature of popular Jewish culture. What do these wandering souls that come to possess the living tell us?

To close this issue, we are re-sharing two short pieces by our esteemed collaborator Karl Kraus: “Matters viewed (Jewishly)”. Unfortunately, stupidity never takes a vacation, so he had to stay on the ball and spend the summer tracking it down, even in the scribbles of a bad joker. But this need to stay on the lookout, this impossibility of letting the mind take a vacation in a world that seems to know only the logic of the worst, is tiring. In this fatigue, everyone can easily recognize themselves.

Here we are. Trump at the helm of the world’s leading power, tilting towards populist, illiberal nationalism. Israel assumes war as the sole axis of its policy, while embracing the nationalist and religious tendencies that are deepening its break with Zionism. The BRICS, a conglomerate of commercial and military powers, each defending its own interests and ruling over its population with an iron fist. And, in the face of all this, a Europe that is witnessing both its economic decline and its inability to unite around the democratic principles that define it.

It’s not a good time to be a Ukrainian from Donbass, or a Palestinian, West Banker, Gazan or Israeli. Nor is it a good time to be a Jew anywhere in the world. The anti-democratic and nationalist wave that is sweeping over us is bound to weaken any population that stakes its fate on the progress of its rights to an extent unprecedented since 1945. Yet the Jews have been, for themselves since before this date of reconstruction, and for the enlightened conscience that has dominated Western opinion since that same date, the distinctive point and the reliable indicator of the progress made in this direction. The nationalist stupidity that has become the majority wish in the most powerful of democratic societies now threatens to sweep away this tendency, and with it the arrangement on which the relative unity and equilibrium of the Jewish people rested. To give an idea of how Trump’s election risks precipitating an internal rift in the Jewish world, we leave Bruno Karsenti’s text “Trump and the Jewish War” in our issue for another week.

To further clarify the coordinates of the situation, we are adding an interview with journalist and essayist Dara Horn on how the “Jewish question” came to agitate the American campaign, and how it may have been instrumentalized by the various political parties. In it, we read of the ambiguity that results from the mixture of an unshakeable attachment to social progress – undeniable since almost 80% of American Jews voted Democrat – and mistrust of the slope taken by the most radical part of the progressive camp.

For K., if there are still a few intact snippets left to build on, they are to be found in Europe. Dispersed, weakened, undermined by falsely universalist and vainly critical postures, they are nonetheless still alive in many of the consciences of European countries – indeed, in the majority of them. Our task is to offer them the intellectual means to express themselves more and better than is currently the case. It is also the duty imposed on Europe by Trump’s victory: to reconnect with its project. And for this, using the modern Jewish question as a spur is certainly not the option least suited to the constraints of the present. So we end this week’s issue with a critique, formulated from the current political wanderings of Jews, of what makes contemporary progressivism so inconsistent in the face of the push from the reactionary camp.

Next week, we may well have to face the reality of a new term for Donald Trump as President of the United States. Surely, this is a catastrophic prospect for democratic societies. The election of Donald Trump, this time with full knowledge of what he is capable of, would in effect mark the decline of their ideals and standards, and the rise of illiberal nationalist regimes. But what would his election mean for Jews? We know that Trump vacillates between sycophancy towards them, based on admiration for Israel’s strength, and particularly threatening antisemitic remarks, such as when he declares that in the event of his side’s defeat “the Jews will have had a lot to do with it”. The target here are those Jews who are not prepared to renounce democratic ideals out of a lust for power. Bruno Karsenti proposes to analyze the Trump phenomenon as revealing a process of internal division in the Jewish world, which for the moment remains in a state of latent war. A Trumpist victory could then precipitate this rift and endanger not only the balance between the Diaspora and Israel, but the very legitimacy of the Zionist project.

In the second part of “Germany’s Battle Against Antisemitism”, Monty Ott explores Germany’s intensified measures against antisemitism, especially following October 7. From appointing antisemitism commissioners to implementing policies against pro-BDS activism, Germany seeks to safeguard Jewish communities in a challenging balance between security and civil liberties. Yet critics warn these efforts sometimes risk conflating antisemitism with criticism of Israeli policies, sparking freedom of expression concerns. How does a country so deeply haunted by its history avoid instrumentalizing the fight against antisemitism to serve other agendas? As Germany tightens its stance, questions persist about the freedoms that might quietly fall away in the process.

It’s always risky to invite a sociologist to dinner. If you place him in a context where he feels out of step, it’s quite possible that his professional habits will get the better of him, and he’ll begin to produce a critical analysis of the ethos specific to your social milieu. This week, it’s the small world of French academia and diplomacy in Jerusalem that bears the brunt of his implacable gaze. One has to admit that there’s a lot to be astonished by, between the backward-looking orientalism and the persistence of old Catholic thought patterns that continue to irrigate the universalism of the Republic’s servants. But the strangest thing of all, remarks Danny Trom, is the way in which, from the Notre Dame of Jerusalem, the Jewish state appears as scarcely a reality, obvious but kept out of sight.

This week we return to our series exploring the landscape of antisemitism across Europe, in partnership with DILCRAH, and turn our eye to the ongoing struggle against antisemitism in Germany as both a historical and modern issue. Monty Ott draws on philosophical perspectives, emphasizing the need for societal authority and the use of power to confront it. In light of the resurgence of antisemitic violence following Hamas’ attacks in October 2023, Ott explores the tensions surrounding the state’s role in combating this threat. This first part of a two-part investigation delves into controversies, including accusations of political instrumentalization and criticisms of Germany’s response, highlighting the complexity of addressing antisemitism through both legal enforcement and societal dialogue. As Germany grapples with its past, the fight against antisemitism becomes a litmus test for the strength of its democracy.

Not so long ago, antisemitism manifested itself with obvious clarity: “Death to the Jews” shouted men with shaven heads tattooed with swastikas. Things now seem to have become so opaque that the characterization of antisemitism gives rise to endless polemics. The university, in particular, is a regular scene, with many Jewish students perceiving the atmosphere surrounding anti-Zionist mobilizations as threatening to them, but struggling to convince the administration of the accuracy of this perception. And after all, the question thrown back at them is a legitimate one: why are you so certain that this is antisemitism, when no one is talking about targeting Jews as such? To shed light on this problem, Valérie Boussard, professor of sociology at Paris Nanterre, conducted a survey among Jewish students who feel less and less at home at university.

Does the State of Israel need the permission of the nations to exist? At least, that’s what Emmanuel Macron is said to have hinted at in the Council of Ministers. If we insist on remembering that Israel owes its birth to a UN decision, it’s because we think that its existence is conditional on the goodwill of the international community. This is not only a diplomatic error, but also a failure to understand this state and the history of which it is the product. Gabriel Abensour, fired up by the foolishness of our President, made a point of reminding us that the realization of the Zionist project precisely meant the possibility of a Jewish existence that did not depend on anyone’s goodwill.

The last words people leave behind often carry profound meaning, revealing the deepest truths about their lives, relationships, and identities. In times of final reckoning, the human desire to be remembered becomes a testament to our existence, weaving personal histories into a broader tapestry of family and collective memory. In Last Words, Philip Schlesinger delivers a deeply personal reflection on his parents’ lives and their legacies, anchored by the poignant moments of their final conversations. As Jewish refugees who escaped Nazi persecution in Austria, Béla and Martha Schlesinger’s life stories are marked by exile, loss, and survival. A powerful meditation on memory, identity, and the legacies we inherit from those who came before us.

The Jews’ point of entry into political modernity, their emancipation à la française, is marked by doubt and ambivalence: will they be able to integrate into the nation without renouncing their obstinate particularism? We know that it was the Count of Clermont-Tonnerre’s perspective that ultimately triumphed over that of Father Grégoire: yes, they could, because they would integrate as individuals. But we know that the hesitation was not definitively resolved… It is on this future, which raises the question of the relationship between the Jews and the Republic, that historian Pierre Birnbaum has chosen to return. What perspective emerges from the history of Jewish emancipation in France, when viewed from the perspective of current problems?

While it is vital that social and political criticism be expressed in our democratic societies, there is also a tendency for this criticism to go astray, in a way that is surprisingly regular. What characterizes this deviation of criticism is that it replaces the normative support it lacks with an evil intentionality. If it is necessary to criticize, but we no longer know in the name of what, then nothing is more convenient than to target monstrous entities. The text by Balázs Berkovits that we are resharing this week contradicts those who would like to excuse this conspiratorial tendency, on the pretext that it is the inevitable, if not legitimate, manifestation of salutary criticism. For to reason in this way is to forget, or not to want to see, that within the list of providential culprits, the Jews always end up as champions. But what explains this bitter victory? Could it be a kind of inability to conceive of Jewish agency, if not as synonymous with crime?

As the first anniversary of October 7 is being discussed everywhere in the media. we asked ourselves how we could commemorate it. What’s left to say that hasn’t already been said a thousand times? Not much, it seems to us, and that’s why we’ve opted for sobriety: one text on October 7, no more. But we’d also like to point out that it didn’t take us long to find out clearly and distinctly what there was to say and think about it: here we publish “Reflections from October”, a text adapted from a lecture given by David Seymour at the end of November 2023. It deals with the evil double of Western modernity, and the possibility that what was revealed by October 7 was the permanence of the Jewish Question.

A debate was launched by Gabriel Abensour in K. last February. He deplored the lukewarmness and disarray of Franco-Judaism, which he explained by the neglect of its spiritual heritage, particularly Sephardic. In April, David Haziza responded, lamenting the fact that efforts had been made to make Judaism modern and presentable, to the detriment of its vitality. And now Julien Darmon has added his take to the discussion, expressing astonishment that it is apparently so difficult for us to appreciate the achievements of Franco-Judaism where they have actually taken place. Why look abroad when French Jewish scholars and intellectuals have done so well? And where should we turn our gaze today, if we are to hope for renewed vitality in Franco-Judaism?

After “Is your German Hebrew?”, “Krawuri: my third identity card” and “My father’s sukkah”, Ruben Honigmann continues the intimate exploration of his questions – ironic and profound – that we are always happy to publish in K. The source of his new essay is a class photo showing him in 1995 among his classmates at the Aquiba school in Strasbourg. What happened to the people in the picture? And how does he make the link between who he was almost thirty years ago and who he is today?

On the eve of World War II, three million Jews lived in Poland. The vast majority were murdered by the Nazis. Most of those who survived in hiding or, more likely, in exile in the Soviet Union, emigrated to the West. Many of those who had been communists before the war returned to Poland to try to build an egalitarian society. Yet the Party failed to combat deeply entrenched antisemitic attitudes, and at times exploited them for political gain, leading to successive waves of out-migration. The result is that perhaps 15,000 Jews live in Poland today, one of the most ethnically and religiously homogeneous societies in the world. Arlene Stein spoke to Anna Zawadzka, Polish sociologist, who examines the changing forms of antisemitism in Polish culture and how Poland’s history of antisemitism is a key element of the contemporary political culture.

Do you remember Andersen’s fairy tale The Emperor’s New Clothes? Recently, in Israel, reality caught up with the fairy tale. Benjamin Netanyahu, who thought he could improve his image after the hostages’ deaths by appearing alongside the bereaved parents, experienced what it’s like to be a naked king in public. For a moment, the father of a deceased hostage shattered the dignity in which Netanyahu was trying so hard to drape himself, by reminding him of his responsibility for the tragedy facing Israel. This week, Noémie Issan-Benchimol analyzes this political event, which, although microscopic, nonetheless reveals the cleavages running through Israeli society, and the way in which the legitimacy of power is currently being challenged.

If a cat speaks when a parrot is eaten, is it enough to say “Jewishness” to understand what we are talking about? European Judaism, and French Judaism in particular, is a mixed reality, inherited from disparate socio-political contexts and traditions, which fit together as best as they can. However, this reality is all too often viewed from an Ashkenazi-centric perspective, which makes Yiddish with a Polish accent the marker of Jewish identity par excellence, and prefers – one wonders why – stuffed carp to the sweetness of North African pastries. The arrival of a free-thinking cat on the French cultural scene has righted some wrongs in this respect. Paying tribute to Joann Sfar’s brilliant comic strip Le Chat du rabbin, Ewa Tartakowsky takes the opportunity to question the colonial situation in which Algerian Jews became French, and the way in which it continues to fuel inequalities within the Jewish world.

The Editors

Last week, we mentioned the case of Hungary, where Viktor Orbán is a friend of the Jews, at least when he manages to involve them in his reactionary political project. Looking deeper into this oxymoronic phenomenon, David Nirenberg’s lecture, “Anti-Judaism, Critical Thinking, and the Possibility of History,” examines how anti-Jewish ideas have shaped Western thought and culture over centuries. Nirenberg explores how influential thinkers—from the ancient world to modern times—have used Judaism as a symbol of everything they oppose in their quest for universal truth. By exposing these patterns, Nirenberg challenges historians to recognize the biases that shape historical narratives and to rethink the possibilities of history itself.

The reputation of a saintly man is now crumbling under the weight of public opinion. It’s a fitting turn of events, since it appears that Abbé Pierre, far from being an apostle of the universal right to housing, did not hesitate to make it conditional on a sordid sexual barter. But, as Danny Trom points out, the public attribution of pardon or opprobrium obeys mysterious laws. For this was not the only time our Abbot went back on his profession of faith, and refused shelter to those who had none…

Mitchell Abidor visited the New York Jewish Museum’s exhibition exploring the long and fascinating history of the Sassoon family. A story that takes us from Iraq to England, via India and China. The Sassoons proclaimed themselves descendants of King David, were described as the “Rothschilds of the East”, spoke Judeo-Arabic as well as Hindustani before converting to English civilization. Through a rich selection of works collected by members of the family over the years, the exhibition tells the story of the gradual integration into Europe of an Iraqi Jewish family who turned into British aristocrats. 

Wonderful times we live in. Did you dream it was possible to be an ultra-Zionist, a great friend of Netanyahu, and at the same time antisemitic and revisionist? To attack the cosmopolitan cabal of George Soros and his henchmen in the European Union, accusing them of being antisemitic? Viktor Orbán, self-proclaimed friend of Israel and the Jewish people, has done just that, and it’s hard not to see the toothy grin behind this outstretched hand. This week, in partnership with DILCRAH, János Gadó takes us on a tour of the parallel reality of contemporary Hungary. There, the assertion of “zero tolerance” of antisemitism does not prevent the rehabilitation of Nazi collaborators and the dissemination of hackneyed antisemitic tropes: only political opponents hate Jews anyway. Gadó’s analysis leaves us with the certainty that, really, there are some friendships we could have done without. And it’s not the least fault of the Netanyahu government to nurture them.

Turning to another part of the world, Renan Antônio da Silva and Eric Heinze inspect Brazil’s complex relationship with its Jewish community and its relationship to Zionism. With comments comparing the Gaza war to the Shoah by the once beloved Lula and with Bolsonaro’s prior ultra-Zionist stance, the Jewish community has felt increasingly alienated from its country’s leadership. Brazil, once a refuge for Jews and Arabs, is now facing rising divisions over the Israel-Palestine conflict, the country’s shifting policies and its antisemitic past rising to the surface again.

German philosopher Jürgen Habermas recently celebrated his ninety-fifth birthday. Bruno Karsenti took advantage of the occasion, in an article that is also a tribute, to examine a work that is, as he writes, “the most solid foundation of European construction as a carrier of the universal”.  A work that is both German and European, or German and then European. Indeed, Jürgen Habermas was the first to understand that it was only by facing up to German crime and guilt that we could, as he did, relaunch a European political project. But Jürgen Habermas did not confine himself to this task. Focusing on some of his lesser-known texts, Bruno Karsenti also shows that Jürgen Habermas not only never turned his eyes away from the uniqueness of the crime – even when some of his colleagues began to defend its necessity – but also recalled the specifically Jewish contribution to German philosophy. A contribution that Bruno Karsenti details here, restoring its importance, certainly for today’s Europeans, but also for Jews who have moved away from Europe.