Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Comments on Hollande's Speech

I'd like to thank Judah Bellin for sending me this link to the (translated) transcript of French President Francois Hollande's speech, made on the anniversary of the infamous Vel d'Hiv roundup in Paris.  Hollande actually made this speech during the week that I was in Italy, which is rather ironic, and could explain why I didn't hear about it when I was in Europe this summer.
The Vel d'Hiv roundup was a mass arrest of over 13,000 Jews living in Paris in the summer of 1942, when Paris was under German occupation.  Many were deported from Drancy to Auschwitz, and many others were interned, temporarily in the Velodrome d'Hiver (hence the name of the event).  The raid marked the beginning of such roundups in France.  By the end of World War II, approximately 70-76,000 Jews had been deported from France, to be killed in the death camps in Poland, especially Auschwitz.  Virtually none returned.
With that introduction, here are my comments on the President's speech:

"The infamy of the Vel d’Hiv was part of an undertaking that had no precedent and has no comparison: the Holocaust."  Unfortunately, there were precedents to the Holocaust.  The most obvious was the Armenian genocide which took place in the Ottoman Empire during World War I, also under the smoke-screen of war.  Estimates vary widely as to the number of Armenian murdered by the bands of thugs hired by the Ottoman government, from as low as 600,000, to over 1.5 million (my own advisor, Prof. Hull, believes that 1.5-2 million Armenians died in the genocide).  If these upper estimates are correct, than approximately the same proportions of Armenians died in the Armenian Genocide as the proportion of Jews who died in the Holocaust.  Although Kemal Ataturk (the father of the Republic of Turkey) was not personally involved in the massacred, he shielded many high-level former Ottoman officials from post-war justice.  Many members of Ataturk's administration were tainted, including his minister of education.  Hitler knew that Ottoman officials had evaded justice, and is on-record as having referred to the world's forgetting of the war crime.  Just as there is Holocaust denial, there is Armenian Genocide denial; the Turkish government still bars scholars from accessing the relevant archives.

"[The victims] believed that the country of the great Revolution and the City of Light would be a safe haven for them. They loved the Republic with a passion born of gratitude."  This statement obscures, and, indeed, the entire speech ignores, one of the most salient facts of Jewish Holocaust victims in France: they were not French.  The Vichy regime was conservative and nativist, and French antisemitism is not identical to German antisemitism.  Whereas the Nazis considered the most dangerous kind of Jew to be the fully assimilated one (and thus the one hardest to detect and to eradicate), Vichy accepted and even protected Jews who had been fully assimilated for several generations.  There were several Vichy-era trials of individuals suing to avoid being considered Jewish: some succeeded, by proving that they were observant Catholics, etc.; lack of circumcision was considered significant proof of assimilation.  However, in Inquisitorial fear of crypto-Jews, Vichy stripped thousands of recently-naturalized immigrants, many of them Jewish, of their French citizenship (including at least one woman in the region I studied this summer).  Moreover, many of the deportees were refugees from Poland, who had fled from the approaching German troops, and had fled to France, still in the time of the Third Republic (which had voted itself out of existence by investing Petain with full powers approximately two years before the Vel d'Hiv roundup).  Most deportees were not French citizens: Vichy even agreed to deport additional non-French Jews from the Unoccupied Zone, in exchange for promises from the Nazis that they would spare an equal number of French Jews in the Occupied Zone.  It was the unassimilated Jews, who felt the weakest feelings of allegiance to France, who were most likely to be deported.  By contrast, assimilated French Jews were more likely to have the connections and resources necessary to evade arrest; sometimes, this was nothing more than a tip-off from a sympathetic policeman, which could mean the difference between life and death for a family.

"Indeed, it was in Paris in 1791, under the National Constituent Assembly, that Jews had become fully fledged citizens for the first time in Europe. "  This statement should be highly qualified.  First, when the First Republican government decided to grant civil rights to Jews, as citizens, they ignored the Ashkenazim.  The first Jews to become French were actually the Sephardim, who had come to France from Spain, Portugal, and Navarre (sometimes by way of the Netherlands).  Second, the National Assembly desired to give (these) Jews everything as individuals, and nothing as a nation, the very sort of state-within-a-state which the forces Revolution opposed.  The granting of citizenship was more a strategy for homogenizing and uniting France than a humanitarian goal in and of itself.  The Sephardim were an easier population to work on than the Ashkenazim: it was the Sephardim, in the Netherlands, who, in the 17th century, became the first "secular Jews," i.e. Jews who did not live in Jewish communities (in some cases, ghettos/shtetls) ruled largely by Jewish law.  As a fully-assimilated American Jew who openly embraces secular culture, I clearly do not see this kind of development as detrimental: many more traditional Jews, however, do.

"Later, others had found in France a land of welcome, a chance at life, a promise of protection. "  This is correct.  Following the Franco-Prussian War (1870-1871) that resulted in Alsace-Lorraine becoming annexed to the new state of Germany, and inaugurated the French Third Republic, many Alsatian Jews found it safer to emigrate to France, and for their children to learn to speak a new language, than to live in a German state.  They were far more welcome in the pluralistic Third Republic; I met an Alsatian (i.e. yekki) family when I was in Paris, and had Shabbat dinner with them.

"The truth is that French police—on the basis of the lists they had themselves drawn up—undertook to arrest the thousands of innocent people trapped on July 16, 1942. And that the French gendarmerie escorted them to the internment camps.  The truth is that no German soldiers—not a single one—were mobilized at any stage of the operation.  The truth is that this crime was committed in France, by France."  Absolutely true, and most important part of this speech.  The Nazis could never have accomplished what they did in France, had they not received an enormous amount of aid from the French civil bureaucracy and police force.

"To his great credit, President Jacques Chirac recognized this truth, in this very spot on July 16, 1995. "  Whatever else I may think of former President Chirac, he did inaugurate the world's first museum of Jewish art and culture.  My cousin Bruno remembers it.

"France, country of the Enlightenment and human rights, land of welcome and asylum, France, that day, was committing the irreparable.  But the truth is also that the crime of the Vel d’Hiv was committed against France, against her values, against her principles, against her ideal."  The Enlightenment (unlike the Renaissance) was often antisemitic, with such monumental figures as David Hume and Voltaire making antisemitic (as well as racist) remarks.  Voltaire, who for the contemporary French, personified the Enlightenment, was one of the most antisemitic writers whose books I have ever read.  His Philosophical Dictionary reads like a angry screed against the people who he considered to be a barbarous tribe of Arab swindlers and murderers.  He misquotes and misreads to no end the copy of Rashi which he got his hands on (interestingly, his own idea of divinity is not too different from that of Maimonides, whom he never mentions, even once).  If Voltaire is truly representative of the Enlightenment, and the Enlightenment legitimately represents French ideals, then, no, the eviction of the Jews from France is not in contradiction to these ideals.  Iconoclast that I am, I believe that there is no such thing as any kind of lasting, essentially French value, principle, or ideal. 

"Honor was saved by the Righteous, by all those who were able to rise up against barbarism, by those anonymous heroes who hid a neighbor here, helped another there, and risked their lives to save those of innocent people. By all those French people who enabled three quarters of France’s Jews to survive."  This is all true.  However, the French police were also often very incompetent, especially in comparison to the Germans.

"We cannot tolerate the fact that two out of three young French people do not know what the Vel d’Hiv roundup was. "  I did not know this statistic, but it does not surprise me.  Nobody know any history anymore.

"The Shoah was not created from a vacuum and did not emerge from nowhere. True, it was set in motion by the unprecedented and terrifying combination of single-mindedness in its racist frenzy and industrial rationality in its execution.  But it was also made possible by centuries of blindness, stupidity, lies, and hatred. It was preceded by many warning signs, which failed to alert people’s consciences."  Yes, I would agree with the entirety of this statement.

"Every Saturday morning, in every French synagogue, at the end of the service, the prayer of France’s Jews rings out, the prayer they utter for the homeland they love and want to serve. “May France live in happiness and prosperity. May unity and harmony make her strong and great. May she enjoy lasting peace and preserve her spirit of nobility among the nations.” "  It's true: I've seen it.

~JD

Monday, August 20, 2012

Hillel Nostalgia

As usual, it's taking me too long to write the blog post that I want to write.  So here is my thought of the day, which came at the most inopportune moment.  Orly and Arielle, this one is for you.
I visited Rabbi Brian in his office at Anabel Taylor Hall on Thursday afternoon, discussing High Holiday planning, and this year's prospects for a viable KOACH community.  (On a side note, I'm not very hopeful.)  All of a sudden, while I was supposed to be discussing the next day's bonfire, and this Friday night's Shabbat dinner, a wave of nostalgia hit me, hard, and I drifted back three years.

It is 2009, this very same weekend.  I remember visiting clubfest in Barton Hall with my Mother, and meeting Rabbi Jason.  I somehow make it to Appel Commons, upstairs, that evening.  I meet Orly and Victor, and sit next to Rob Levine; somehow incredibly, someone suggests that I revive a defunct book club.
Then it is Sunday, and I go to Collegetown to see Andrew and Erica, and Andrew tells me to spend time with Arielle, who will keep me safe from Orly.
Monday, at the barbecue: I arrive too late to receive any food.  So does the poor homeless guy in the line in front of me.
Tuesday: I am in the former Bookery, with Rebecca as backup, trying to negotiate an order of books.
Classes begin.  Arielle sits next to me in my Islamic Civilization class.
It is Friday night again; I'm meeting Aaron Sarna, and trying to stay out of people's way.  I don't feel very welcome.
Another Friday night, and Becky is asking me, in the corner of 104 West!, by the hand-washing station, whether I can read the first Torah portion on Rosh Hashanah.
I'm struggling to read, despite my practice.
I'm in front of a scroll again, but back in my parents' synagogue, reading the fourth portion for Yom Kippur.  I hurry back to campus, having missed class (my Freshman writing seminar) for the first time, albeit with an excuse.  I make it to Initiation to Greek Culture, though.  That evening, my friend Nick helps me break my fast.
More time spins by, and I go home to to celebrate the first night of Sukkot with my parents.  After the holiday is over, I don't help Orly and Jacob dismantle the Sukkah: I miss out on fun and pizza.
I meet Sam Moss one night at Shabbat dinner.  Nice guy, who works for the governor.
Nathan Cohen asks me to write a devar Torah.  I get very excited.  It's supremely stupid, and I make a fool of myself, in front of everyone.  An older man approaches me in order to harass me afterwards, and Annie sticks up for me.  I feel pretty terrible for the rest of the night.

The next week, it turns out that at least two people, two other freshmen, had been paying attention to what I had been saying.  One is Harry, and I can't really remember the other one's name, but she seems upset that I feel so ignorant around everyone else.  After nightfall on Saturday, she calls me, having gotten my phone number from Victor.  She says that her name is Peninah, and want to know if I would like to start studying with her.
I write a pseudo-Platonic dialogue for my Initiation to Greek Culture class, and Orly gets really excited.  She wants to read the whole thing.
Chanukah is approaching, and I attend some dreidel-making event, dragging Rebecca along with me.  I regret it afterwards.
There's some kind of doughnut-eating contest at the dining hall on the first Friday night of Chanukah.   Noah and Lazar both bet large piles of Chanukah gelt on me, with 7:1 odds against.  Nathan Cohen is the announcer, and very obviously loves his job.  Somehow, I end up out-eating the others.  Nobody can quite believe it, but Victor is very happly  I walk back to my dormitory, laughing all the way.
It's the end of the semester, and I'm at the kosher dining hall on a weeknight.  Another Freshman, who lives in Highrise 5, is leaving around midnight, and has a few hours to spend with me.  I can remember him having made comments about the Yemenite custom of eating chicken with one's bare hands before, but I don't want him to feel lonely, so I offer to spend the rest of the evening with him.  He teaches me the combination for front door of the CJL, and he ends up spending the rest of the night teaching me 1900 years of history, or so.
It's wintertime, and I return home.  I spend almost every day writing long e-mails to Peninah.

Then I realized that I was supposed to be paying attention to planning High Holidays, and that I wasn't being very respectful to Rabbi Brian.  For the rest of the day, I thought more about the first semester of my Freshman year, than I did about the first semester of my Senior year.

~JD

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

In JFK

I'm sitting in JFK International Airport right now, and will try to hammer something out before my commuter flight leaves for the Syracuse airport (and will probably finish the next day).  I've had a safe, ordinary journey, which ended my fairly boring last week in Tours.  Only 3 things happened the whole time, and two of them were Skype conversations (one of which was cut short), which is why I've been so silent about the end of my trip. On the flight from Paris to New York, I sat with a very young couple (as in, 25 or so).  It's weird to think that I'll be that age in just a few years.
But, let me review, first, my summer thus far (I'm quite sleep-deprived, and my eyes are crossing, so don't hold me accountable if I make a few typos).  It began with my brother Sam and some other significant people in my life graduating from Cornell, and me eating their cake (definitely the best part there).  Then, I flew off almost immediately with Rabbi Eli, Adam, Ben, and Alex to Tzfat.  I studied in the Yeshiva there with Rabbi Eli, Rav Asi, and their colleagues, and met some new friends, like Yossi, Dovid, Aron, and Jake.  I also read a lot on my own.  On the weekends, I visited biblical archaeological sites, such as Beit-El, Shiloh, and Gilgal.  I even made it to Jerusalem, and got to see Peninah there.
I flew to France, and spent my first four weeks or so in Tours, where I dove into the departmental archives on France in the time of World War II, looking in particular at the life and treatment of the Jews of Indre-et-Loire.  I visited a few castles; Sam visited me; I made crepes, and flipped them in the air; I helped make a minyan at a Sephardi synagogue.  I spent a single full day in Paris, where I cross-referenced names I had found in Tours in the Shoah Memorial.  I also stopped by Angers for a few days, to check up on a letter that I found in the Tours archives, and learned a little bit there about what happened in World War II in Loire-et-Cher.  I visited another castle, and then decided to leave for Italy.
I climbed a lot of stairs in Florence, looked at some famous doors and paintings, and visited the cathedral.  I remembered what it was like to be in a country with mosquitoes, of which France is free.  I had an aliyah in the most beautiful synagogue I've ever visited, and spent a day in Rome, where I was very hot, and visited some Roman ruins (also, sometime during the day, I crossed the border into Vatican city).  I made a stop in Milano, where I visited the Cathedral and the Sforzas.  Then, I was back in Paris, being inefficient, and worrying about my belongings being stolen, until I relocated to the hostel in Tours, where I've been since then, being magnificently incapable of getting my work done.
OK, flight boarding now!
~JD

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Crazy People and Me


Rather than thinking about how much I still have left to write on my paper, I'm going to raise a question that I've had for several years; recent events have encouraged me to think further:
Why are crazy people attracted to me?
I am entirely serious.  Everywhere I go in the world, whether it's Paris, Tours, Florence, Tzfat, London, or even Ithaca, people who are drunk, or mentally disturbed are attracted to me, like iron filings are attracted to a magnet.  I don't know whether it's because I'm particularly gullible-looking, or that I look non-threatening, but people who are not in normal states of mind seem to find me an excellent person to approach, and begin pouring out what they have to say.  I have heard an embarrassing number of people pour out their life stories, or significant portions thereof, to me.  I've had a drunk man from the D.R. living in France start interrogating me about Bob Marley; I've had an unbalanced U.S. veteran start telling me about the last 20 years of his life; I've had a (homeless?) man in Ithaca tell me about why he thinks Cornell erected all of the fences on the campus bridges last year; I've had a homeless American living in Israel tell me what he thinks is wrong with the Chabad movement.  Please note that all of these people (and the others like them) are is in addition to various European con-artists and beggars, who also tend to target me.  Discussing all such encounters is too broad of a topic; for the moment, I'm only discussing who want my sympathy, not my money.
What prompted me to write this entry was my series of encounters with one of my hostel roommates.  He is Parisian, but his girlfriend threw him out of his apartment, so he had no choice but to crash in a hostel.  He is a radical left-wing exponent of conspiracy theories, and is editor of a magazine of which he is the only contributing writer; I don't know if it has ever been published.  He has also written a book.  He told me that he had the idea for the book when, after reading the Bible ten times, he had a dream in which Queen Esther showed him his manuscript of a book about India on the monitor of a computer with an all-red keyboard.  He proceeded to show me the electronic version of his book, magazine, etc., and to begin to describe to me all of his other ideas, including conspiracy theories.  On two occasions, I've needed to politely excuse myself from his company, because I was going to be late (both times I was entirely truthful).  His English is quite good, and we communicated back and forth, alternating language.  He is one of the reasons I did not feel comfortable staying in the d’Artagnan.
I'm not saying this in complaint, or in denunciation: I know the man's name, but I'd rather not write it, for fear that this will somehow come back to haunt him.  I’m bringing it up to ask: why me?
There are three possible answers:
1) Either the way I look, or the way I hold myself, or the pheremonic signals I exude indicate that I am someone who will not protest to listening to otherwise unusual stories and narratives.
2) I look and appear the same as everyone else, but unlike everyone else, I actually stop to listen when crazy people start speaking, whereas everyone else pretends that they don’t hear, and walk very, very quickly away from the offending presence.
3) Actually, everyone has these encounters.  I just haven’t noticed it.
I can only think of one occasion in which I have seen a drunk person (on Saint Patrick’s Day) walk over to one of my friends, rather than me, and start talking to him.  My friend (no, I won’t say who it is, but he sometimes reads this blog) responded very warmly and politely, as is normal for him.  In other words, this happens at least sometimes to other people; I don’t know whether this is reassuring or worrisome, because it means that other people sometimes also experience these uncomfortable moments.
OK, everyone have a good weekend (and a Shabbat Shalom, for those to whom it applies), enjoy the remaining weeks of summer vacation, etc.  There is someone on the other side of the world thinking of you right… NOW!

~JD