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How are Israelis integrating the traumatic memory of the October 7 victims into their collective memory? This week, we continue the article series by Julia Christ and Élie Petit – who set off for K. to document the complexities of an Israeli society grappling with war and its dilemmas – with a report on the ceremonies of Yom Hazikaron, the day of remembrance for the victims of wars and attacks in Israel, which took place ten days ago. Our reporters attended an evening vigil held at a Tel Aviv high school, where, as is customary throughout the country, the names of its victims were read out. The names of victims since October 7 are now added to this list. At the very heart of this ceremony, we can discern the particular knot that, for Israelis, commands the relationship with the country: gratitude for its protection against persecution and awareness of the need to defend it, even at the risk of one’s own life. But how have the political and military events of this year affected this knot? Was it really just another Yom Hazikaron vigil?

The prosecutor of the International Criminal Court has just asked for international arrest warrants to be issued for the three main leaders of Hamas, its political chief, the head of its armed wing and the planner of the October 7 attacks, as well as for Benjamin Netanyahu and Yoav Gallant, respectively Prime Minister and Defence Minister of Israel. The fact that the stigmatization of Israel has been taken to a new level here is obviously what we find most compelling about the event. And yet, there are many other aspects to it, which we need to get to the bottom of in order to see matters clearly. That’s why we went to interview Yann Jurovics, who had already spoken in our magazine about the proceedings initiated by South Africa’s application to the International Court of Justice. As unfettered as usual by prevailing passions, the jurist – a specialist in crimes against humanity and former expert to the International Criminal Tribunals for the former Yugoslavia and for Rwanda – answers our questions, explaining the situation and providing us with the means to understand it better. What are the practical implications of these arrest warrants, assuming they are authorized by ICC judges? What are we to make of this judicialization of the conflict? Is there not reason to hope that it could produce salutary political effects? Does this procedure really equate Israeli politicians with Hamas leaders? Distanced from the political clamor and the many attempts at instrumentalization, Jurovics reminds us that it is individual responsibilities that are at stake in this case, and not a judgment on collective entities.

Finally for this week, in the wake of the recent Eurovision, we return to David Stavrou’s article on Malmö and Sweden, where antisemitism imported from the Middle East dances the tango with an old right-wing antisemitism that found a welcoming refuge there after the Second World War. Given the tenor of the demonstrations that targeted the young singer Eden Golan, who was treated as an embodiment of the abominable “Zionist entity” to the point of being forced to travel protected by an impressive convoy, it seems that Malmö has not usurped its reputation as one of the world’s most antisemitic cities.

How do Israeli universities resist becoming involved in the war? We continue this week’s series of articles by Julia Christ and Élie Petit – who set off for K. to document the complexities of an Israeli society grappling with war and its dilemmas – with an interview with Mona Khoury, Vice-President of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. The contrast between the university life she describes and the hustle and bustle of American and European campuses is striking: while one might expect proximity to a conflict that affects Jewish and Arab students in their very identity to exacerbate tensions, the opposite seems to be true. In Israel, the conflict is not an abstract affair, but a reality that has long been experienced collectively, in a familiar relationship with its contradictions. A reality that the administration has been able to recognize in order to ensure the continuity of university life, by organizing mediation between the different sensitivities. Far from the monolithic image that is often associated with it, Mona Khoury bears witness to the plurality of an Israeli society that is concerned, but prepared for the complexity of the ordeal.

Is it possible that in the heart of Europe, in its very capital, Jews find themselves alone? This is the sad conclusion drawn this week by Belgian historian Joël Kotek. In it, he expresses alarm at the pervasiveness in Belgium of an unabashedly anti-Israeli passion, often openly antisemitism, which seems to extend across the entire political landscape, from the Christian Right to the Socialist Party. While we may wonder about the particularities of this Belgian antisemitism, and worry about what it means to express such hostility towards Jews just a stone’s throw from the European institutions, we may also be surprised that, seen from Belgium, the French situation seems so enviable. Could it be that the republican model, which vectorizes opinion according to an ideal of emancipation, allows antisemitism to be confined to the bangs?

While Belgium is putting on a show that we dread for Europe, the American Jewish scene seems to be continuing to produce eulogies of exile, conceived not in complementarity with a state for Jews, but against it. This week, we publish a review by Abraham Zuraw of Shaul Magid’s latest book, The Necessity of Exile. In a vein reminiscent in some respects of Daniel Boyarin’s “Jewish manifesto” (according to which the solution for Jews lies in the fact that they have no state), Magid idealizes exile, promoting a metaphysical “counter-Zionism”. But as the climate changes for American Jews – from the Trump administration to the current wave of anti-Zionism on campuses – it may well be that even the most resolute contemptors of the State of Israel will come to feel the anxiety of Brussels. Has counter-Zionism already outlived its usefulness?

What’s going on in Israeli society? While for some this question may seem secondary to what’s currently happening in Gaza, it’s fair to say that we don’t know much about it. Although the region was intensively covered in the weeks following October 7, work in this area has fallen by the wayside as international attention has focused on the unbearable consequences of the war in Gaza. The reports that tell us about this Israeli society, which cannot be disentangled from the army waging the by international opinion now vilified war, have become rarer and, in truth, have settled on a fixed plane: a society united in trauma and torn between the desire to see the hostages return and its fierce attachment to winning this war. But Israeli society is more complex than that. Two members of our editorial team, Julia Christ and Élie Petit, are currently on location to document the complexity of the dilemmas and issues that run through it. One of these issues is certainly the hostage situation. So, as soon as they arrived in Israel, they went to the weekly demonstration demanding their release, to understand what is really at stake in this issue. And it turns out that Israeli society’s demand can be summed up in a single word: “Now”, as if the present of October 7 had never closed. This week, K. publishes their report, the first in a series of articles to come out of their stay in Israel.

Also this week, we bring you a text that is a cross between historical vignette, literary criticism and a return to family memory. After publishing a review of Sholem-Aleichem’s Motl in America a month ago, on the occasion of the release of its French translation by Éditions de l’Antilope, Mitchell Abidor tells us what reading this extraordinary tale of Jewish immigration to the United States evokes for him, as a Jew who feels deeply American. His text recounts the long and difficult journey from the Old World to the New, the hope of an unfettered life and the anguish of being turned away at Ellis Island, the astonishment of the new arrivals at the discovery of American society and their gradual acculturation to it. Above all, it pays tribute to the unfailing optimism of this first generation of immigrants, who had left behind the memory of their European experience. At a time when something of this experience seems to be returning on the other side of the Atlantic, we can’t help but feel nostalgic as we listen to this evocation of America’s promise.

Finally, we round off this week with Gabriel Rom’s report on Poland’s Jewish cemeteries. After discussing the way in which the conservative Polish government had set about restoring and protecting the heritage of certain Jewish burial sites in order to silence a memory laden with guilt, Rom focuses in this second part on more limited phenomena, but indicative of an evolution in mentalities. While the Nazi policy of destroying Jewish cemeteries was continued after the war by the Polish population, leading to the theft and dispersal of gravestones, in recent years we have seen local initiatives to restore and renovate Jewish graves. In a Polish society grappling with the demons of its past, Gabriel Rom asks what can stand in the way of the forces of denial and enable the emergence of a Jewish memory that can be recounted.

We hope you enjoy the read!

What’s left of Polish Jewry? Around 10,000 people, and a few well-kept cemeteries. This week, we are publishing the first part of a report by American journalist Gabriel Rom, devoted to the preservation of the burial heritage of Poland’s Jews, and the strange ambivalence of memory that this reflects. The conservative Polish government had devoted substantial sums of money to the restoration of Jewish cemeteries, while at the same time spending years constructing a national narrative that was intended to be free of grey areas. Even going so far as to criminalize the idea that Poland was responsible for the Holocaust. The burden of memory – a memory laden with guilt – is met with silence and denial, with the result that Poland struggles to fully honor its participation in a European Union that has made lucidity about its past a cornerstone of its political identity. But Gabriel Rom’s journey among the tombstones is not limited to well-ordered alleys and heritage-laden names: behind the desire to whitewash history and pretend that Jewishness and Polishness are seamlessly linked, we find moss-covered monuments to the victims of the Holocaust, and plaques whose names have already been almost erased. It is these fragments of a disappearing memory that his report echoes.

The second text we’re publishing this week also deals with the memory of a vanished Eastern Judaism, and how its glorified summoning up in the present can serve as a smokescreen. We asked Boris Czerny to write a review of Tales from the Borders, the latest book by Israeli-American historian Omer Bartov, a specialist in the role of the Wehrmacht in the Holocaust and inter-ethnic relations in Ukrainian Galicia. Bartov sets out to restore the intimate memory of a Judaism at the European “end of the world”, through the tales that circulated among the inhabitants of Buczacz, the Galician town from which his mother came. But, as Czerny points out, while Bartov’s historical reconstruction is rich and evocative, if not rigorous, it serves above all to condemn the way in which Jews have entered another “end of the world”: Israel. Indeed, why does Bartov use his description of the cultural richness of a Jewish nation integrated into a multi-ethnic Galician society as the basis for an anti-Zionist argument? This never ceases to amaze. Bartov, Cerny tells us, sees Zionism as a brutal and proud nationalism, quick to assert itself through violence at the expense of its neighbors. Yet the Jewish society of Galicia, almost all of which was exterminated, was one of the most fertile breeding grounds for socialist Zionism, and for the budding field of international law. Playing with the idea that the victim ultimately resembles his executioner, and not merely criticizing Israeli policy, objectively makes Bartov a prime source for the antisemitic positions that are advancing under the guise of contemporary anti-Zionism.

Finally, since the idea that the realization of a state for Jews is intrinsically suspect is clearly still alive and well, and for those who haven’t yet read it and sent it to all their acquaintances who confuse criticism of Israel in the name of international law with anti-Zionist criticism, we’re leaving one more week to Julia Christ’s article “Anti-Zionism: a realistic option?”.

Happy reading!

Because K. is a space where concepts and affects intermingle without contradiction, this week’s issue of our magazine features a long read on political philosophy and a poem. Two texts of a very different nature, but both intended to provide us with the intellectual resources we need more and more in these dark times.

In “Anti-Zionism: a realistic option?”, Julia Christ meticulously analyzes the issues involved in distinguishing anti-Zionism from antisemitism. As we know, the stakes are high, given the opposition between those who believe that one can be anti-Zionist without being antisemitic, and those who believe that all anti-Zionism is constituted by hatred of Jews. In the current political situation, clarifying this debate means taking it back to its principles, i.e. the fundamental political conceptions involved. In public debate, however, very little light has so far been shed on this subject. No matter how many times “antisemitism” and “anti-Zionism” are pitted against each other, no doubt in the hope of creating some friction, the intellectual distinction between the two struggles to emerge. To change this, it is necessary, as Julia Christ does here, to identify as closely as possible the kind of state criticism that justifies the creation of an ad hoc term for the singular case of the State of Israel. For it is by distinguishing anti-Zionism on the level of political semantics that its exact link to antisemitism can be understood, and at the same time unmasked.

In The Other Shoe, Judith Offenberg shares some news with us from Israel, all the way from Tel Aviv, in the form of a poem. 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 to carry on as if nothing had happened? That nothing is possible, and yet it must be, is what our young poet tries to capture.

American Jewry has long been an exception in the diaspora: relatively untouched by the murderous expressions of antisemitism, sufficiently integrated to identify with the ideals of the majority (as Jean-Claude Milner recently analyzed in our magazine), American Jews could look upon their European cousins with a compassionate gaze, as well as with the self-assurance of one who is certain of belonging to the privileged part of the family. But at a time when antisemitism has become commonplace and tolerated in the United States, can the carefree attitude of the American Jew survive? The text by Daniel Solomon, a doctoral student in history and K.’s first English translator, which we are publishing this week, offers a striking account of this question. Recounting the context in which an antisemitism riot broke out on the Berkeley campus, and the way in which the administration abandoned its Jewish students, he wonders about the end of a golden age, and discovers a feeling that had hitherto seemed peculiar to European Jews: loneliness.

What explains the stagnation of Franco-Judaism, the persistent impression of its languor? Nearly two months ago, Gabriel Abensour delivered an uncompromising diagnosis that was bound to provoke a reaction. This week, David Haziza responds to Abensour’s diagnosis, tackling this thorny issue in his own way. Haziza unhesitatingly endorses Abensour’s central observation – that representative institutions have long been responsible for weakening the vital forces of Franco-Judaism. He does, however, wish to introduce one important nuance: in his view, this weakening is not primarily due to a colonial contempt that has prevented French Judaism from seizing the cultural and intellectual resources of Sephardic Jewry but more fundamentally, to a denial of the heritage of Kabbalistic mysticism. In short, Franco-Judaism is withering away because it has tried too hard to modernize itself, identifying itself, in Hermann Cohen’s words, with a “religion of reason”. Neither the Ashkenazi roots of Eastern Europe, nor those of the Sephardic world, can irrigate current practices and reflections.

Finally, we publish the second part of Liam Hoare’s investigation into Austria’s strategy for combating antisemitism, conceived as part of our series in partnership with DILCRAH. After exploring how Austria intends to come to terms with its Nazi past and secure the future of its Jewish community, this week Liam Hoare dives into the current turmoil. With the threat of a far-right victory looming over the forthcoming elections, and the coronavirus epidemic and the war in Gaza increasing the number of manifestations of antisemitism, the struggle promises to be a long one.

Is the binational idea, which is currently enjoying a resurgence in popularity, more than just an anti-Zionist fad? If you listen to the most radical proponents of the “one-state solution”, there’s little doubt that it’s all about getting rid of the State of Israel, which is seen as an obstacle to the political realization of the Palestinian nation, and thus putting Jews back in the minority. But is this really all there is to the binational idea? To shed some light on this question, we asked Denis Charbit to review Shlomo Sand’s latest book, Two people for one state? Rereading the History of Zionism (Seuil). In it, Sand reminds us – but only to play Zionism off against itself – that the binational idea was first and foremost a Zionist idea, defended by authors such as Scholem and Buber. However, Charbit highlights what is really important: the fact that, from the point of view of these thinkers, that of an internal critique of Zionism, binationalism is the horizon for regulating the excesses of nationalism. That the realization of this horizon had to be abandoned does not mean that the perspective that emerged from it was forgotten. And it is the Zionist idea itself which, contrary to Sand’s view, is deepened and enriched, in order to better apprehend the tensions of the present situation.

Beyond guilt, can a sense of political responsibility emerge from the recognition of past crimes? It’s this question, which Europe cannot escape, that the case of Austria invites us to reflect on this week. In this latest instalment of our series on antisemitism in Europe, conceived in partnership with DILCRAH, Liam Hoare looks at Austria’s strategy for combating hatred and prejudice against Jews. In this first part of his investigation, we learn how Austria intends to implement a policy aimed at strengthening Jewish life and institutions. Between an educational policy confronted with difficulties on the ground, taking into account the concerns of the Austrian Jewish community and an in-depth work on the relationship with the Nazi past, the task looks set to be a long one. Next week, we’ll look at the challenges that lie ahead.

What does a community, a Jewish community need in order to sustain itself and grow? With Jewish life struggling to survive or being endangered in some places, while in other parts of the world there are at times small rennaisances of communal activity, we are particularly interested in Anshel Pfeffer’s article on the historic Jewish community of Suriname and its evolution over the centuries –  a place that not only carries multi-layered history but also could have been the blueprint for a Jewish state in the 18th century. 

Happy reading!

The United States’ abstention from the latest UN Security Council vote on March 25, 2024, seems to indicate a widening gap between Israel and its historic protector. Are we witnessing a divorce between Israel and the United States?

The text by Jean-Claude Milner that we are publishing this week was written before this vote, yet it sheds a unique light on it. In it, Milner gives us his analysis of this idyll, seemingly on the verge of ending, a break-up which, in his view, has already been consummated. As is often the case in affairs of the heart, divorce occurs when the illusions that cemented the relationship fall away. Here, the illusions identified by Milner’s analysis are entirely American: they stem from the projection onto Israel, the only democracy in the Near and Middle East, of the values of the American way of life and, above all, of the Western credo of peace. If the United States can abandon its unconditional support for Israel, and seek to place it under trusteeship, it would be because American Jews have long been more identified with the WASP world than with the Jewish world.

Milner’s radical analysis is crystal-clear, but is it really the last word in history? It seems to us to provide food for discussion, and so we add a commentary signed by Danny Trom and Bruno Karsenti. Just listen to the speech by Jewish Democratic Senator Chuck Schumer, and you’ll find a living European perspective at the very heart of American power. Criticism of the form taken by Israeli military policy today can indeed be an authentically Jewish position. This was the point of the text “Gaza: How To Get Out”, which we published in K. two weeks ago. Chuck Schumer’s recent speech “My last name is Schumer, which derives from the Hebrew word Shomer, meaning ‘guardian’. Of course, my first responsibility is to America and New York. But as the first Jewish majority leader in the U.S. Senate, and as the highest-ranking Jewish elected official in U.S. history, I also feel very strongly my responsibility as Shomer Yisroel, meaning guardian of the people of Israel. Throughout Jewish history, there have been many Shomrim, and many of them were far greater than I claim to be. Nevertheless, this is the position I find myself in today, at a time of great difficulty for the State of Israel, for the Jewish people and for Israel’s non-Jewish friends alike.”.

As if echoing these issues, this week we also publish Macha Fogel’s latest column. Her dive into the Yiddish world leads her this time to the Satmar current, whose Yiddish-language press irrigates the Hasidic world from Brooklyn. How do these Jews, American but not WASP-identified, anti-Zionist yet concerned about antisemitism on campus, talk about the war in Gaza?

From day one, Israel’s war in Gaza has been legitimized by a dual objective: to destroy Hamas and to bring back the hostages. However, since wanting to free the hostages “at all costs” implies negotiating with Hamas to buy them back, these two objectives are in contradiction. Thus, from the very first days of the war, a new political divide emerged in Israel: should an agreement for the return of the hostages be negotiated, or not, at the risk of national security? Noémie Issan-Benchimol examines the coordinates of the opposition between the various Israeli “tribes” on this thorny issue. At a time when hostage posters have been torn down even in Israel on the basis that they would undermine martial morale, it is in fact Jewish fraternity that is at stake: is the person captured by the enemy still part of the community, is solidarity still required? Tracing the traditional legitimization of hostage rescue in Jewish thought, Noémie Issan-Benchimol asks how the form of brotherhood specific to exile can relate to the state situation.

While life in exile is marked by a constitutive instability, it is nonetheless punctuated by a calendar that emphasizes festivities.
Lacking the reassuring certainty of territorial anchorage, the diasporic Jew is inscribed in a ritualized temporality that serves as support and refuge. For a time, that of the feast, the world is set aside, and anxiety gives way to a carefree attitude that sometimes resembles recklessness. For many observant Jews, October 7 was Shabbat. The next day, coincidentally, was Simchat Torah. This week, Ruben Honigmann gives us an intimate account of this shifted temporality, where the event only happened belatedly, once the cell phones had been switched back on. But do we ever emerge from the night of October 8, where history caught up with us? Months go by, but the stupefaction remains, as if temporality remains dissociated, and all support has been withdrawn.

Sciences Po prides itself on being an establishment where we learn not only the art of rhetoric, but also that of nuance, which presupposes the ability to confront contradictory ideas and critically relate to the diversity of opinions. This is, after all, the least we can expect from an institution that intends to train tomorrow’s intellectual and political elites: that it trains their reflexivity, i.e., that it teaches them to dispense with reflexes of thought that, even cloaked in the trappings of subversion, bear witness to the most blithering conformism. With students and activists parading around in Keffiyehs and controlling the entrance to the “Gaza” lecture hall, it’s doubtful whether this mission has been accomplished. This week, we publish the testimony of Clara Levy, a former Science Po student and founder of the Paris-Tel Aviv Association. She recalls a time when all was not rosy for Jewish students, but when opposing views on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict could be discussed, when teaching staff dared to provoke thought, and when she could feel comfortable enough to organize trips to Israel and Palestine.