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 action. Not that history repeats itself exactly. On the contrary, it is this illusion of permanence, which is inherent in myth, that historians seeking to portray reality in all its complexity must confront. In an interview with us, historian Steven J. Zipperstein discusses his book Pogrom: Kichinev and the Tilt of History and examines how the famous pogrom of 1903 helped shape patterns of interpretation that persist to this day. Through this prism, the challenges of the modern Jewish relationship with the threat of antisemitism and the possibility of organizing self-defense are illuminated in a new light. He highlights the reasons why the specifically Jewish experience of vulnerability and the resources to overcome it are expressed through this term in situations of acute hardship such as that of October 7. He then poses a question that we ourselves identified as central in K. when the event occurred[1]. What does the survival of a myth of absolute vulnerability imply, despite the rupture brought about by the creation of the State of Israel? This persistence is attested to by the way in which “pogrom” immediately came to mind in the contemporary Jewish consciousness to describe the massacres of October 7. But for Zipperstein, a state policy that is oriented in this way toward myth risks losing sight of both reality and its own responsibility. The observation of this disconnect, the conduct of the war in Gaza, and its legitimization have forced us to address this issue for too long.
On a different note, in the form of personal testimony, we are publishing a text by writer Boris Schumatsky, who echoes the issues highlighted by Zipperstein from the perspective of the diaspora. Where Jewish security is not supported by a sovereign and powerful state, the resurgence of antisemitism in its contemporary forms reactivates a traumatic memory that refuses to fade away and is initially experienced in the isolation of subjectivity. For the current political signs deceive only those who have forgotten what the world is capable of doing to Jews, and remembering too often involves a loneliness gnawed by anxiety. Schumatsky bears witness to the subjective effects of this vulnerability in a story that confronts the vertigo of despair and the limits of madness. How can we not suffocate in a world where the dams of memory seem to be giving way under the pressure of a wave of hatred expressed with a clear conscience?
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Notes
| 1 | See in K., “Following the pogrom,” October 2023. |
