A Letter to My Non-Jewish Friends

'Woman Writing a Letter' by Rupert Shephard. Arts Council Collection, Southbank Centre

It’s difficult being a Jew today. Of course, over the centuries, that’s often been true. Jews have been reviled, excluded, insulted, isolated, murdered. The Holocaust, in which six million Jews were murdered, was the apotheosis of Jew hatred, mercilessly eliminating much of European Jewry.

Then, in 1948, when I was very young, the State of Israel was declared. In my parents’ synagogue, I sang Hativah, Israel’s national anthem, my young eyes tearing up. A Jewish state, wow! Over time, Jews in America became more and more integrated into the social fabric, flourishing and influencing. Israel was a place of joy, something special.

In my parents’ synagogue, I sang Hativah, Israel’s national anthem, my young eyes tearing up. A Jewish state, wow!

Blinded by pride and relieved to have a Jewish home, from the beginning we refused to see that Israel was a nation-state, not a holy piece of land exempt from disastrous decisions every human-made political entity makes. As to the Palestinians: we didn’t see them; we didn’t acknowledge their existence. They were indistinguishable from all those who wished for our destruction, and we had every right to destroy them as sworn enemies. They were entitled to no human rights.

I can’t speak knowledgeably about Jews in the UK, as I’ve lived here only seven years. My sense is that whilst Jews are much a part of life here, flourishing in communities both orthodox and more secular, they are less of a force than in the US. I suspect this has to do with myriad factors, including Jews’ exclusion from English life over the centuries, living outside city centres both physically (in Oxford, there was a wall around the city which Jews could not cross) and in terms of how Englishness is defined and expressed.

There’s less room here for marginal voices, more pressure to blend in to an Anglicized way of being. At the recent coronation of the king, for example, Protestantism in the form of the Church of England was a continual presence in validating his kingship. White Christian Nationalism is a growing movement threatening US democracy, but there is not yet an official declaration of a marriage between church and state as expressed in the UK monarchy.

These are generalities; discard what feels off. I aim to set the context for where we are now, in summer, 2023. Israel is a nation-state moving further towards a destruction of its democratic institutions, such as the judiciary. Its leaders embrace a set of beliefs underpinned by religious orthodoxies; religion in Israel is intertwined with all major appointments and activities. Watching Israel becoming a de facto theocracy is angushing. I see no difference between the blending of religion and nationalism Israel is embarked upon and the blending of these elements in Hindu India or Islamist Iran. We Jews were often lauded for our cosmopolitanism, our ability to flourish in any culture, at any time, making that culture richer by our presence. In today’s Israel, the desire of those in power is to assert Jewish supremacy and to extinguish that worldliness which once defined us.

We Jews were often lauded for our cosmopolitanism, our ability to flourish in any culture, at any time, making that culture richer by our presence. In today’s Israel, the desire of those in power is to assert Jewish supremacy and to extinguish that worldliness which once defined us.

Along with the destruction of what was once Jewish large-mindedness, there is also the undeniable truth that Israel is sustaining an illegal Occupation, contravening international law in relation to disputed territory. Agents of the state routinely humiliate and torment Palestinians. For the Israeli power structure, there’s no dispute: the land from the Jordan to the Mediterranean belongs to Israel, to the Jews. Period. No argument. 700,000 settlers have moved onto land which does not officially belong to Israel, displacing and tormenting and often killing Palestinians who get in the way. Defending the rights of Palestinians to have a home of their own is to risk being labeled a self-hating Jew, a traitor. You’re a fool for not seeing that Palestinians are the enemy and can never be trusted, only subsumed or destroyed.

I’ll not go on to list those groups who are working for justice, both Jews and Palestinians; those individuals who never give up trying to change minds. Nor will I list those complications that make negotiations difficult -- like a split Palestinian government with a sclerotic 87 y.o. as head of the Palestine Authority (for the nineteenth year and counting) and a militant anti-Israel Hamas in Gaza. I’ll not delve into the alliances the Israeli Right makes with Christian Zionists who are a major source of ongoing US support. I’ll not argue for or against the notion of Israel as a settler-colonial project nor examine the nuances of the term Zionism. The language and slogans and shouting are unrelenting and polarized, and they make it nearly impossible to find common ground.

I will implore my friends not to be paralyzed when it comes to looking at Israeli policy and insist that it must right the wrongs it is doing to Palestinians. It must address this issue and stop hiding behind Jewish vulnerability as an excuse to continue the status quo.

Anti-semitism is on the rise, but that is not a reason to excuse Israeli actions towards Palestinians nor to forgive the inactions of many so-called liberal democracies who turn away.

Anti-semitism is on the rise, but that is not a reason to excuse Israeli actions towards Palestinians nor to forgive the inactions of many so-called liberal democracies who turn away. Anti-semitism has many forms, some more blatant than others. There are visual representations of Jews with hooked noses, huddled over bank notes. There are those who insist Jews run the world, controlling policies through their grasping, moneyed hands. Nazi swastikas are painted on buildings. Jews are called zionist racists as a form of derision. Jews are sometimes shot whilst in gathering places like synagogues. Sometimes the sneering is obvious; other times, it’s a more subtle form of undermining Jews.

Anti-semitism is spreading, not only in right-wing populist countries like Hungary, but even in the good old USA and the UK. It’s real and it’s growing.

Get it clearly: antisemitism exists and it’s scary and it hurts everyone. But that is not a reason to allow Israel to continue its Occupation and to torment Palestinians, denying their human rights. I know it’s difficult to critique Israel because for many, Israeli equals Jew and criticizing Israel can be construed as anti-semitism. Don’t buy into that reasoning; it’s wrong.

I am a Jew. But I am not an Israeli. In fact, twenty percent of Israel’s population is non-Jewish Arab. But Israel refuses to separate out nationality from religion, insisting it’s a Jewish state and its Jewish citizens are to be privileged above its not Jewish ones. No, no, no. This sense of Jewish superiority is used to underpin the belief that Israel is exceptional, free from accountability, unlike other nations held accountable for what they do to all their citizens and what they do in the name of their citizens.

It is difficult and confusing to take a stand on Palestine and Israel. One is whipsawed in many directions. The hatred between Left and Right is extreme. Part of that vitriol stems from the longstanding belief that Jews are different, in horrible ways as in the ancient canard that Jews are Christ-killers and in less egregious but still negative ways. On the other hand, there are those who valorize Jews, giving them extraordinary qualities unlike those of other ethnicities.

Within the Jewish community, the splits between those who support Israel at all costs and those who insist it is on the wrong path are deep and ugly. If you’re not Jewish and you care about this issue, there are verbal landmines everywhere. This is an attempt to bring a bit of light, and to urge you to look as clearly as you can at this nation’s Occupation. Find a way of speaking against it, ever mindful of the distinction between a country--Israel--and an ethnicity--Jew.

Open Closed Open

‘Open closed open. Before we are born, everything is open in the universe without us. For as long as we live, everything is closed within us. And when we die, everything is open again. Open closed open. That’s all we are.’

Yehuda Amichai (1998) Translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kronfeld

Recently, three people close to me opened--or closed-- depending on how you see it. One was my brother-in-law Jim. For over fifty years, together we kept alive the memory of his brother, my late husband. The other was a friend from earlier days, someone from the nineteen sixties with whom I shared Peace Corps times in East Africa. And before them, my beloved friend Ellen died. She and I shared a house for eleven years, where I was super-aunt to her three children.

Examining the meaning of these people in my life, and constructing the meaning of their death, I am oddly--and gratefully--comforted. It's as if each of them taught me something by the way they left. They hadn't planned to do so. I wasn't central to their lives, the way their spouses and children were. But we shared conversations and thoughts over the years. And knowing them as I did, I understand a bit more about how finality can be a bit more of an opening than a closing--though still I fear it, truth be told.

My friend Diarmuid knew he was dying. He was in hospice, but we kept texting. His straightforwardness was invigorating, his ability to coexist with death's approach and still be incensed by the state of the world he was leaving behind. I loved his sense of outrage, his Swiftian anger at how messed up things are and how they need to be mended. When we were young, in the sixties, we were optimistic things would get better. Doing our bit to make that happen, he worked with farmers in Uganda and I taught secondary school in Kenya. Things felt less calamitous, before the wars in Vietnam and Iraq, before 9/11, before climate catastrophe, before the magic and destruction of social media. The world was headed in the right direction, and we were along for the ride, making progress happen.

What did I learn from Diarmuid and how he handled his exit? I learned you can remain engaged, pissed off, unrelenting in fighting injustice in the world around you.

What did I learn from Diarmuid and how he handled his exit? I learned you can remain engaged, pissed off, unrelenting in fighting injustice in the world around you. And in the end, as you skip away from it all, you can observe that your individual life is connected to larger realities. As Diarmuid said in his last unfinished note to me, not with grandiosity but with inquiry:

Is it a coincidence that the helpless thrashing of the last cohort of defunct empires matches my personal struggle to maintain coherence? In my case, I am leaving the stage of history with an overwhelming feeling of joy and gratitude for the love I have been able to give and receive. Vladimir the Terrible, Donald the cultural rag-picker and Boris the Blithering Idiot should be so lucky.

Upon further reflection, I don’t think this balmy notion plays out into anything resembling an insight. But it is definitely a fact that my exit and the final collapse of Imperialism (currently in a demented state but still sowing havoc) are somehow coinciding.

On the other hand, my brother Jim did not know his death was on its way. It came quickly. He was away in five days. Jim, too, had a finely honed sense of outrage. He and I were on opposite sides of the political spectrum, but each of us was unrelenting in how we interpreted the world's woes. Underneath his opinionated, take-no-prisoners intellect, shone a vulnerability and lovingkindness.

As he wrote a few months before his death,

{thanks for your card re} my aging, my crappy health and just plain reminder of our ties. It's our ties that matter most of course.

Jim taught me that anger doesn't have to dissolve bonds, that sharpness of mind needn't fade over time, that there are ways of being loving even when inner conflicts threaten to choke off kindness.

Jim taught me that anger doesn't have to dissolve bonds, that sharpness of mind needn't fade over time, that there are ways of being loving even when inner conflicts threaten to choke off kindness.

My dear Ellen showed me graciousness in the face of leavetaking, courage at its most fiery in resisting despair. Our last conversations reverberate over time. Anticipating her imminent death two years ago at what is now the not very old age of sixty-nine, Ellen wrote:

I don't really know what to think about the afterlife. Whatever it is, it will be an annihilation of anything I’ve already experienced. Will my consciousness and being disappear? Probably. At least as I understand consciousness and being. That's scary, but also it raises my curiosity, because the change does not necessarily mean an ending, just a different state that might as well be an ending. I guess that's the point of "soul growth" -- to facilitate the transition.

I'm in a different space, already "going away" and yet I'm alive and doing relatively well. I don't want to anticipate my death. I want to value what I have. It reminds me of the scene in the play "Our Town" when the woman dies in childbirth and comes back to visit her family. She sees everything so poignantly, while her family is just involved in the banalities of everyday living. I expect things will be changing as I go along; I will feel different things, going back and forth between anger, fighting, acceptance, sadness and joy in what I have.

For now I still have some work I want to do. One can only stay on these subjects for so long. Thank God, there is living to do.

Living to do; fortunately, yes for now. Those who have left are my teachers, guiding me and urging me to be open to what is to come. Goodbye Jim, Ellen, Diarmuid. Thank you.

Chronicles of an Elder: Zimbabwe

Zimbabwe, August, 2022

Zimbabwe is a beautiful, distressed, struggling country of 15 million. Its government is corrupt, its social services practically non-existent, its unemployment rate at 80 percent, its currency worthless. Goods are priced in US dollars, and one US dollar is 750 Zimbabwean dollars. Our dear friend Sophie, a university professor, makes $130/month. Electricity is erratic in many places, including the house where I stayed. There's no hot water, infrequent wifi, lots of flies. But the warmth I feel towards the Chirongoma family, and their reciprocal affection, makes it alright. On the other hand, it's a hard life in terms of the daily slog for 98 percent of the population. As ever, there's a layer of rich Zimbabweans whose housing and other amenities are on a different planet from most.

A huge Chinese influence operates, and they are purchasing all manner of valuable resources. It's the new colonialism. Very, very few white people in evidence anywhere. Many, many people selling vegetables, soft drinks, baskets, trinkets, oranges, etc. by the side of the road. One of the most distressing things for me is knowing that giving someone two dollars can make the difference between their eating for a couple of days or going without. I feel a continual need to buy stuff I don't need or want, and to tip anyone who does me a service. I experience how hugely privileged I am compared to almost everyone I meet, and it's discomfiting. It's not charming to see seven year old children driving a donkey cart or an old woman hawking apples.

I experience how hugely privileged I am compared to almost everyone I meet, and it's discomfiting. It's not charming to see seven year old children driving a donkey cart or an old woman hawking apples.

On the positive side, the skies and the sunsets and the wildlife are magnificent. Today I stood two feet from a giraffe, and fed a four ton elephant at Antelope Park, an animal sanctuary/resort. The Zimbabwean culture I've encountered is warm and intensely welcoming. I'm conscious of my western liberal values and my colour. I'm concerned about being insensitive and matronizing, but my outsider feelings are minimal. The acceptance level I experience is huge. I don't understand how people can endure such privation and be both accepting and often cheerful. Being an elder, I feel fairly comfortable not understanding lots of things, but I wish things were better here and were on the upswing. They're not.

I was in the Peace Corps in Kenya over fifty years ago, and this brings me back to considering how the world has changed and how I, now an elder, am different. I despair at the way things are moving in alarming and unhappy directions. Today at the animal park I realized with horror what climate catastrophe will keep doing to this gorgeous land--and to ours. This concern was nothing but a whisper when I was young.

Today at the animal park I realized with horror what climate catastrophe will keep doing to this gorgeous land--and to ours. This concern was nothing but a whisper when I was young.

November, 2022.

The following update comes from Dr. Sophie Chirongoma, currently living in Zimbabwe. Sophie is a professor at Midlands State University.

Living conditions remain difficult in all arenas with socio-economic circumstances continually deteriorating. Zimbabwe's forthcoming parliamentary and presidential elections in 2023 do not offer much optimism. There's ongoing polarization and animosity between the ruling party, Zimbabwe African National Union, Patriotic Front (ZANU-PF) and the main opposition party, the Citizens Coalition for Change (CCC). The ruling party continues to use government resources such as food aid and farm inputs as campaign tools to influence voting patterns.

We Zimbabweans persevere, but there is little light on the horizon just now.

……………………………………

Rose Levinson, Ph.D.

Founder and Managing Editor

Emerging Voices: A Webzine for Shifting Times