Edito

It is fascinating to see how historical research into an event that took place over a century ago can shed light on the present situation and identify resources for political…

In the dire context we know, violent arguments arose these past months between those who voice necessary criticisms of Israeli state actions which must remain focused on the political and…

When the political horizon seems blocked by a present with no way out, taking a step back from utopia opens up new possibilities to build on. This week, K. wanted…

Purely ethical positions, however legitimate they may be, are clearly insufficient to inform the perspective we need in the current crisis, with Israel’s new offensive on Gaza. Social and political…

The past few weeks have seen growing outrage at the situation in Gaza from representatives from across the European Jewish landscape. Starting off this strong wave of condemnation in April…

How can we talk about a singular traumatic experience when it is part of a global trauma that affects everyone? How can we assert a particular point of view within a chain of events that concerns all of humanity? These are questions that all minorities ask themselves when they speak about their experiences—and which are particularly acute for Jews at times when their unique destiny is intertwined with that of humanity as a whole.

The Allied victory over Nazi Germany, commemorated in the US on May 8, was one of the defining moments in this intertwining of Jewish destiny and the destiny of humanity. While crowds rejoiced, Jews mourned. While humanity was horrified by the sixty million deaths of the war, Jews were facing the almost total annihilation of their people in Europe. Inevitably, in the aftermath of the war, survivors asked themselves: how can we make our particular suffering heard amid the universal carnage? Following the reflections of Polish Jewish playwright Ionas Turkov on his own experience of May 8, 1945, Stéphane Bou takes us into the world of the survivors of the Shoah—those who knew that if they did not tell the story of what had happened to the Jews, humanity, both in mourning and in celebration, would not do so.

In a completely different context, the question of how to make a Jewish voice heard in a majority narrative arises today in relation to the war in Gaza. That the situation created jointly by Hamas and Israel in this narrow strip of land has become untenable is an idea that only the extreme right of the political spectrum, in Europe as in Israel, still disputes. But this position would have to be able to be expressed by Jews without them feeling that they were feeding antisemitism. This is precisely what the extreme left in our countries makes impossible, as was once again cruelly illustrated by the attack on the Socialist Party stand and Jérôme Guedj himself during the May 1 demonstration. Bruno Karsenti revisits this revealing scene, showing that the main obstacle to a lucid and fruitful critique of Israel is not Jewish solidarity. It is the extreme left, for whom demands for justice for the Palestinians will only be fulfilled when Israel has been wiped off the map, stifling and holding hostage any criticism of Israel that defends the Zionist project as such as a legitimate version of modern politics.

Between personal history and world events, Philip Schlesinger offers a poignant testimony to uprooting and Jewish diasporic identity. Through the “last words” of his parents, refugees who fled Nazi Austria for the United Kingdom, he explores the scars left by exile, the marriages of convenience between uprooted people, and the transmission of a fragmented European identity. His reflection concludes with his decision, after Brexit, to reclaim the Austrian nationality of his ancestors, while questioning the diasporic future of Jews in the shadow of recent events. This intimate account, which we are resharing this week, illustrates how individual trajectories are part of the larger story of history, and how Jewish identity continues to redefine itself in the face of geopolitical upheaval.

With each edition of the Olympic Games, the list of disciplines open to competition is renewed. The Committee’s selection criteria remain somewhat obscure, but if we are to believe the steady growth in the number of participants and their ability to break records, one sport that brings contemporary crowds together seems to be a likely candidate. This is the art of outrageous comparison, where true champions are distinguished by their willingness to try anything, and whose top divisions are mobilized to equate the Shoah with just about anything. This week, the great German historian Stephan Malinowski offers us a brief overview of the pioneers of this high-flying discipline, recounting some of their most famous exploits and shedding light on the rich and diverse heritage that has shaped this demanding practice. The fact that Nazis, post-colonialists, and communists all feature on the podium—while Gandhi only receives an honorable mention—testifies to the unifying potential of this rapidly growing discipline.

History is not told in sweeping generalizations but in the quiet persistence of each fate. Nóra Platschek, born in a remote corner of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, lived through the ruptures of two world wars, the Holocaust, and exile — yet left behind little record of her own voice. Her grandson Stephen Pogany reconstructs this life with care into a powerful meditation on identity, assimilation, and erasure. This is not only the story of Nóra, but of a generation of Hungarian Jews who once saw themselves as inseparably Hungarian, only to be cast out and hunted by the very nation they had embraced.

On the occasion of Yom Hazikaron, the Remembrance Day for Israeli War Victims and Victims of Actions of Terrorism, we are republishing two poignant pieces: A poem by Judith Offenberg, in which she shares some news with us from Israel. As well as a report by Julia Christ and Élie Petit on the Yom Hazikaron ceremonies. Both pose the question of how is a normal life possible in the atmosphere of a country at war? And how is it possible not to succumb to the temptation of carrying on as if nothing had happened? 

As protests grow in Israel against the Netanyahu government’s murderous logic and in Gaza against the martyrdom of the Palestinian people sought by Hamas, Western anti-Zionism reacts initially with silence. In doing so, it demonstrates that this deadly standoff is the only one that fits its ideological interpretation of the conflict. Politics is reduced to a distinction between friend and foe, drawing lines between camps that do not tolerate internal divisions and therefore share only a desire for mutual annihilation. This worldview has a direct impact on our public debate, as evidenced by the treatment of the term “left-wing Zionist” and those who are labeled as such. This week, Julien Chanet draws on French and Belgian sources and questions the reasons why part of the left believes that Zionism can only be its existential enemy, leading it to adopt a binary logic that rules out any prospect of peace: “Why should it be unthinkable that left-wing Zionism, even if not supported in its internal criticism of Zionism, should at least be left alone?”

For those who are vigilant on the subject of antisemitism, there have been many warning signs coming out of Sweden recently. We remember the turbulent Eurovision 2024 contest in Malmö, with its large anti-Israel demonstrations and inflammatory slogans, as well as the fact that Sweden has, willingly or not, given birth to two idols of the most radical anti-Zionism: Andreas Malm and Greta Thunberg. But beyond the anecdotal, what is the general state of antisemitism in Sweden and how is it being addressed by the public authorities? As part of our partnership with the DILCRAH, we are publishing an investigation on this subject by David Stavrou, who has been working on this issue for a long time, highlighting the changes in both the scourge and the political response over the last twenty years.

On the occasion of Easter, we are publishing a text that has nothing to do with the death of the Pope. In fact, it has as little to do with his final moment of glory as this resolutely modern speech on the rise of antisemitism. Correlation is not causation, of course. Be that as it may, and since we are in the realm of pure coincidence, Danny Trom shares a nice one with us. He thought he was going to spend a peaceful week’s vacation with his family in Seville? That was without counting on Holy Week and its penitents looking like Klansmen who appear on every street corner. His interpretative delirium calmed by a Xanax or two, he recounts for K. this traumatic confrontation with the most archaic aspects of Catholicism.

The reconfigurations of the Jewish situation brought about by October 7 and the war it triggered are what K. stubbornly strives to examine and understand. This week, historian and demographer Sergio DellaPergola offers us a remarkably comprehensive and accurate overview, all the way from Israel. It stands out in particular for its ability to take into account both sides of the Jewish perspective, Israeli and diasporic. The coup de force lies in the way they are articulated, which, rather than reducing one to the other, allows us to grasp what prevents them from drifting apart. On the Israeli side, the experience of Hamas’ genocidal antisemitism and the failure of the Jewish state to function as a refuge have shattered certain illusions about overcoming the diasporic condition. Outside Israel, it has been necessary to confront the metamorphoses of antisemitism, and in particular the reversal of the accusation of genocide against Israel, which reflects a profound change in the Western world’s relationship with the memory of its crimes. Will we then see the issues diverge, or, on the contrary, bring the two sides closer together? DellaPergola does not play the prophet when it comes to the fate of the Jews. But he offers us a sketch of the future, in which the best outcome is still that of decisive intervention by the diaspora in the Israeli political crisis: the Jewish people must reclaim their own modern history.

Among the tasks that fall to the university, its critical function is of decisive importance for the reflexivity of democratic societies. It should come as no surprise that reactionaries of all stripes, who are not keen on having their arbitrariness questioned, seek to separate the production of knowledge from its critical dimension. What is alarming, however, is the extent to which they are currently succeeding, particularly under Trump. However, the failure of the university’s critical function today is not solely due to external factors. This is evidenced by the debates surrounding the call for a boycott of Israeli universities, in which K. has already intervened several times. Our most incisive contributor, Karl Kraus, adds to the dossier this week by delving into a report, which is recommending that Sciences Po Strasbourg sever all ties with Reichmann University in Herzliya.

Almost three years ago, we published Agnès Bensimon’s report on the sprawling Wybran affair, named after the renowned doctor and president of the Belgian CRIF who was murdered in the parking lot of his hospital in 1989. From Brussels to Morocco, she summarized an investigation that was rendered impossible and the denial of justice for this crime, which is overshadowed by international Islamist terrorist networks. Now, the assassin has been pardoned by the King of Morocco in a move whose political motivations remain unclear, rightly scandalizing the Belgian Jewish community. We have therefore decided to republish Agnès Bensimon’s text, accompanied by some updates.