Outdoor Politics

A Film Unfinished

In an East German archive, three reels of silent film lay untouched and forgotten amid the chaos of World War II and its Communist aftermath. 40 years later, on an American airbase, a British film historian came across these reels simply titled, "Das Ghetto." The deceptively simple name, however, belied the power of its contents.

As we quickly learn in A Film Unfinished, the recently released documentary about the making of “The Ghetto” by Israeli filmmaker Yael Hersonsky, “The Ghetto” refers to the Warsaw ghetto and the three reels of film are the missing companions to a fourth reel--discovered in the early 1960s. Until recently, that single reel was used by historians and Holocaust museums as an accurate account of the Jewish ghetto experience. (One might wonder why this was accepted as truth when it is doubtful that Jews would have access to camera, never mind the freedom to openly film their lives, but that is the subject for another post). Together, these four short films were the raw footage—shot in May of 1942--for a planned Nazi propaganda movie. The film was never completed and it is unlikely we will ever learn how the Nazis intended to use the material.

Hersonsky’s documentary is the first to examine the film in its entirety and to present a more accurate picture of its filming of the movie as well as of life in the Warsaw ghetto. The 63 minute work serves as the backbone of her film into which she intersperses three key organizing elements: poignant commentary from survivors of the ghetto watching the film for the first time, a reenactment of an interview between Willi Weis, one of the cameramen of the Nazi film, and an unnamed interrogator, and excerpts from diaries by Adam Cherniakov--head of the Warsaw ghetto Jewish Council--and Emanuel Ringleblum--the ghetto's unofficial historian--about the making of the movie.

Hersonsky’s self-defined objective was to recontextualize the Nazi film before the last of the survivors die and leave future scholars unable to separate fact from fiction. Her painstaking process of peeling back the layers of misconceptions that surround the film and its subjects is thorough and crucial. But what makes this film more than just an educational aide, is how it challenges its audience to examine its own preconceptions of ghetto survival. Now that we know the circumstances of the making “Das Ghetto,” it would be easy to paint all of the scenes as clearly staged. But the film, perhaps unconsciously, also forces its audience to accept some hard truths about life in the ghetto--namely that for many imprisoned there, they lived as best they could. One scene depicts, for example, a group of young, attractive men and women smiling as they sunbathe in a patch of dirt. Without context, it would be easy to assume that this was staged, but in fact scenes like this did occur, even outside of the range of Nazi cameras. As one of the survivors commented as she watched, people were still concerned about how they looked even in the midst of all of the chaos and brutality around them. It was a way to maintain their humanity, their sense of self. Another scene showed a well-dressed woman ignoring beggar children on the street. Although we might chalk this, too, up to Nazi propaganda, another survivor simply offered the explanation that without this act of self-preservation, one could not survive. Later, as this same survivor cried as she watched two corpses lie untended on the sidewalk while saying that she was so happy that she could cry as she watched the frame. Her crying made her human, she said, something that she could not succumb to while living in the ghetto.

When we view the Holocaust today, it is easy to see its victims in broad strokes of black and white. The primary goal of A Film Unfinished was to properly contextualize the subjects of the Nazi footage and to further demonstrate the chilling reach of the Nazi propaganda machine. But this film also succeeds in the far more difficult task. It offers its audience a glimpse of the shades of gray that hover, often ignored, just beneath the surface.

A Polish Education

BBC News - Poland asks prisoners to care for Jewish cemeteries
- Watch more Videos at Vodpod.

Across Poland, a new form of Jewish remembrance is taking place. Inmates from 10 different prisons are contributing their manpower to a country-wide effort to clean and maintain abandoned Jewish cemeteries. Participation in the project—which is sponsored by the prison service and the Foundation for the Preservation of Jewish Heritage in Poland—is, however, about more than coming up with creative ways to keep prisoners occupied. Beyond the actual labor, the men are also introduced to Jewish culture and religious traditions.

For many of prisoners who came of age under communism, talking about anything Jewish was taboo. But through this program, and with the aid of Poland’s chief Rabbi Michael Schudrich, that is beginning to change. Before the prisoners set foot in the cemeteries Rabbi Schudrich visits each of the prisons and talks to inmates about everything from Jewish marriage laws to how to put on tefillin. By educating the men, the project leaders hope to break through the anti-Semitic outlook that remains present in Polish society and change the way the inmates were taught to view Jews.

So far, the response has been positive. One of the men involved in the project, Artur Blinski, says “the scheme has broadened his outlook towards his country’s past. ‘Until now I wasn’t that interested. This program has changed my attitude towards Jewish culture and I’ve started to get interested in it. I had no idea about this culture and the more I learn the more interesting it becomes.

That it has taken so many decades for Poles to be able to confront not only their own attitudes towards Jews as well as the importance and influence of pre-war Jewish life in Poland is distressing. However, this effort–as well as others aimed at opening up the discussion and breaking societal taboos–is heartening. It takes strength and courage to challenge the status quo. In a recent blog post, I pointed out important steps taken within Poland to confront its past. I hope this latest project represents not the end of such forward movement, but rather just the beginning.

When We Talk About The Middle East

I think Thomas Friedman can read my mind. Just as I sat down to write this blog post, I came across a new op-ed of his that addressed my very topic. (Hat tip to Mr. Friedman)

In his op-ed, Friedman takes on recent efforts by Western political leaders and entertainment personalities to delegitimize Israel. He argues that Israel is a complex and multi-faceted country that deserves to be seen and understood in all of its nuance rather than as a symbol of unfettered cruelty. Furthermore, he gives his readers a glimpse into the Israeli psyche and shows just how it fits into the context of the greater Middle East. But more importantly, he demonstrates that simplistic views, such as the ones put forth by Britain's Prime Minister or Oliver Stone, serve not to ameliorate the situation, but rather simply prolong the anguish for all involved.

Friedman's views may not be particularly novel, but his words rang especially true for me in the wake of a rather emotional conversation I had with a new Brazilian acquaintance, Peter (not his real name). We were both participants in a journalism training course in Prague and were relaxing at a bar with friends at the end of an intense week. Suddenly, one of the people in our group mentioned that Peter’s last name is also common Brazilian Jewish name. Teasingly, I turned to him and suggested that he might actually be Jewish. His immediate reply of: “no, I don’t want to be Jewish,” didn’t bother me until he added that the reason he didn’t want to be Jewish because of Israel. He felt that Jews were selfish in their dealings with Palestinians and in their refusal to give more land to the Palestinian state. Blindsided, I didn’t quite know what to say. I had expected a simple answer of “I don’t want to keep Kosher” or even, “I’m Catholic, why would I want to convert?” My immediate response—although unsaid—was to reply defensively and demand to know what was so bad about Israel. Another part of me wanted to give him a crash course in Jewish politics and explain the huge rifts within the American Jewish community over that very topic. A third part of me felt grateful.

Grateful because I have always felt secure about my place as a Jew in the American mainstream. While I've certainly gotten into heated discussions with people--primarily other Jews--about Israel or other Jewish topics, I've always felt supported by a larger network of voices. I've never felt alone. But during that quick conversation, I caught a glimpse of what it might be like for Jews from smaller communities elsewhere in the world for whom expressing their religion or their pro-Israeli views is a never-ending exercise in self-defense. A whiff of realization of what it might feel like to always be conscious of one's minority status. American Jews are lucky. Our community is strong and organized and not afraid—for better or worse--to speak out. We don’t feel the need to hide our kippot in public or our synagogues behind innocuous facades. We have a vast network to which we can turn to learn how to respond to anti-Israeli sentiment. While we might not all agree on what anti-Israeli sentiment sounds like, we all, especially today, can find a group from whom to draw confidence in our position as American Jews. Can the same be said for South American or European Jews? Based on anecdotal evidence, I’m skeptical.

Peter and I chose to end the conversation when we realized that a slightly tipsy discussion at a bar about the Middle East was not the best place to talk about such a sensitive topic. Plus, I, and perhaps he too, felt that a potential friendship was more important than an emotionally fueled argument with an outcome that could have left us both uncomfortable in each other's presence.

Thomas Friedman separates criticism of Israel into two categories: constructive and destructive. To him, constructive criticism is to acknowledge Israel and to view its actions within the larger context of the Middle East while looking for a real solution. Destructive criticism is to maintain the status quo and to single out Israel's destructive behavior while ignoring all others. While I think Peter’s views of Jews and Israelis falls into the destructive category, I wasn’t willing to take him on. Perhaps next time, I won’t have to. I’ll simply hand over Friedman’s op-ed and calmly ask if he wants to be part of the problem or part of the solution.

The French Railroad on Trial

Reuters reported this week that 100 French and American plaintiffs are suing SNCF, the French national railroad company, for their role in transporting French Jews to concentration camps during the Holocaust. The group, made up of Holocaust survivors and their descendants, insist that it’s not about the money, but rather about exposing the crimes in which the rail company participated. “‘It is about money but not in the way they mean,’” said William Wajnryb, whose father died at Auschwitz. “When people make accusations about money, they should look at the SNCF first of all,” he said. “The core of this story is that the SNCF got money for deporting Jews.’”

I certainly understand the motivation that is driving these plaintiffs to sue the SNCF. The trauma of the Holocaust coupled with the French government’s decades-long refusal to acknowledge its role in contributing to that trauma is enough to want to fight for whatever compensation might be available. That is logical. Just because it is logical however, doesn’t make it right. Had this case been brought to court 40 or 50 years ago, when the money would have made a tangible difference, I would be more sympathetic. But today, with most of the survivors gone and many of their children successful, they don’t need the money to help them survive.

If the money is meant to serve a purely symbolic purpose, then I look forward to reading that each of the plaintiffs is receiving a one dollar bill (or one euro coin) from the SNCF in recognition of their past. But in the absence of such a proposal, there are many other ways to draw attention to the SNCF’s crimes that could have a greater impact.

If the group insists on some sort of significant monetary compensation, they should use their winnings to set up a foundation to help victims of current genocides or donate it to other non-profit organizations that advocate for increased Holocaust education. Another alternative is for the SNCF to publicly acknowledge their guilt, something it has already begun to do. In ‘The SNCF under the German Occupation,’ a self-commissioned study, it was revealed that during the war SNCF workers were, “quite willing to protest vigorously to the Germans about excessive demands in other areas, [they were] ready to pack thousands of Jews and others off to Eastern Europe in plainly inhuman conditions without any apparent qualms.” Reuters does not say how or if the report has been made public, but it is an important step forward.

Alain Lipietz, a spokesman for the plaintiffs, suggested that this trial serves a wider purpose by demonstrating that crimes such as those committed by the SNCF will never be forgotten until justice is served. But justice will not be served if its rewards help only a handful of people. Roughly 76,000 French Jews were persecuted and killed during the Holocaust with the help of the SNCF. No amount of money or admission of guilt can bring them back. So instead of making this trial about reparations for the past, it should be about working towards a future where such gestures will no longer be needed. Only then will it be worth it.

Fabulous, Feel-Good, and Fatwa-Free

When a Muslim and a Jew walk into a bar, it’s a joke. When a Muslim discovers he was born Jewish, it’s a movie. The Infidel, shown as part of the 2010 Tribeca Film Festival, is the story of Mahmud Nasir (Omid Djalili), a middle-aged Muslim man from London’s East End, who discovers after his mother’s death that he was adopted as a baby. Not only was he adopted, but his birth parents were Jews. Jews who named him Solomon (Solly) Shimshillewitz, or as his new friend Leonard Goldberg (Richard Schiff) suggests: Jewy-Jew-JewJewawtiz.

While Nasir is trying to cope with his new identity, he also must deal with the impending marriage of his son to the stepdaughter of one of Egypt’s most radical imams, Arshad El Masri (Yigal Naor). The movie takes off when Nasir discovers that his alleged birth father is dying in a nursing home, but can’t see him until Nasir learns what it means to be Jewish. (For the Rabbi is guarding the door, this means Nasir must know how to say the names of the five books of the Torah in Yiddish or recite the Shema). Desperate, he turns to his caustic neighbor Goldberg who instead, teaches him the truly important aspects of Judaism: how to say “oy” with the right inflection and knowing how to dance the Kazatsky (certainly a critical skill in my family!).

If you’re looking for a light-hearted send-up of Jewish and Muslim stereotypes, this may be the movie for you. The writer (David Baddiel) was not afraid to openly mock both sides with often pointed humor. And watching on-screen chemistry between Djalili and Schiff is definitely worth the price of admission. Beneath the laughs however, the film did try to address some larger issues–religious conflict, death of a parent, loss of identity–which is where it fell flat.

To take on these topics with a comedic touch, as Baddiel did, is admirable but he didn’t trust his writing skills to take his set-up to the next level. For example, towards the end of the movie we see Nasir sitting down with the Torah and the Koran on the table in front of him. Both books are leather-bound with ornate decorations on the covers. He opens each book to the first page and begins to read. Suddenly, he realizes how fundamentally similar these two books are, despite his pre-conceptions and he begins to reconcile his seemingly disparate identities. But instead of letting the message sink in both for the character and for the audience, the camera quickly shows him grabbing a cup that reads, “#1 Mutt.” Sure it’s funny. But it was defensive humor, almost as if Baddiel was afraid that one serious moment would detract from the overall humorous tone of the movie.

Similarly, in making this a film about a man torn between religious identity: Judaism vs. Islam, moderate vs. radical Islam, Baddiel primed us for a deeper conflict that never happened. Comedy gives us permission to explore even the most contentious of situations and has the confidence that audiences will follow. I wanted him to take advantage of this loop-hole and go deeper–to take on the simmering tensions that right now are only accessible through humor. Instead, he came up short–offering only watered-down hostility instead of full-blown craziness.

During the Q and A, Baddiel and Josh Appignanesi (the director) mentioned they had been a little nervous about the film’s reception by Britain’s Jewish and Muslim communities. They were pleased to report however, that after its release no one was burning them in effigy or calling them anti-Semites. Which, considering the topic, is no easy feat. Despite its flaws, the success of the movie proves that Jews and Muslims can agree on at least one thing. Can a comedy about AIPAC and JStreet be far behind?

Xenophobia on the Rise in Hungary

The results from Hungary's elections are in. And according to the Deutsche Welle, the outlook for minority groups does not look good. In the first round, the round that determines who will lead the government, the conservative party, Fidesz, won 53% of the vote. But even more concerning is the success of Jobbik, a far-right anti-Semitic, anti-Roma party that won 17% of the vote.

According to Nora Szoeke, an Eastern European political consultant, the outcome is not surprising. "In Hungary the extreme right is more embedded within the society," she said. "It's not just an extreme fringe group that supports Jobbik … it's any voter who has been disappointed by the government and politics up to now."

The article offers good insight into the reasons behind the right’s success—they essentially chalk it up to Hungary’s growing disenchantment with the Social Democratic coalition and accompanying corruption and mismanagement--but what I want to know more. How are the election results being interpreted by the Hungarian Jewish and Roma communities? What has the response been? Are they concerned? Taking it in stride? Are they speaking out? Are other groups speaking out on their behalf?

In the midst of all the clear-eyed analysis it’s important to remember how these political movements affect the people on the ground. I hope their voices won’t be forgotten in the next news cycle.

The Seder: Not Just for Jews Anymore

Did you know that the three pieces of matzo used during Seder represent the holy trinity? Or that a leg of lamb on the Seder place could replace the shank bone? Sound absurd? Perhaps, but not if you’re celebrating Passover as a Christian.

Yes, that’s right. Passover is no longer just the domain of Jews, but also of Christians who are– according to Rabbi Rami Shapiro, a comparative religions professor at Middle State Tennessee University and co-author of “Let Us Break Bread Together: A Passover Haggadah for Christians”–seeking a closer connection to Jesus as a man and as a Jew. “The practice of Seders is a growing phenomenon. Christians are really interested in the Seder meal and [churches] are trying to give their members a sense of what it was like during the life of Jesus.”

Leafing through Rabbi Shapiro’s Haggadah, there is no mistake as to the intended audience. From the title, “Let us Break Bread Together” (a reference to the New Testament) to the replacement of Adonai (Lord our G-d) with Abba (Father) to better reflect Jesus’ relationship with God, you know you won’t be seeing this version on your Seder table anytime soon.

While the idea of Christians celebrating Passover no doubt makes some within the Jewish community uncomfortable, there is also another way to look at it. During the Seder, we hear and accept questions from four children: the wise child, the wicked child, the simple child, and the child who does not know how to ask. Through their questions, each of these individuals is seeking a place for themselves within an established ritual. So too, are Christian communities who see in Judaism, and especially in Passover, an opportunity to connect with the roots of their own religious practices and faith.

By teaching them the Jewish framework for the celebration in which they want to take part, we are not only offering them an opportunity to feel closer to their religious figures, but also to better understand Jews and contemporary Judaism—something that can only be a positive step forward.

Then again, if more and more Christians do start celebrating Passover and realize just how delicious matzo and gefilte fish truly are, they might want to start celebrating other Jewish holidays as well. Like Sukkot–to see their Sunday school version of the tabernacle come to life–or Chanukah with all the presents, the candles and the latkes. But then we’d have to tell them that Santa Claus doesn’t really exist and try to convince them that a menorah really is just as much fun as a Christmas tree.

On second thought, I think we’re safe.

Links of Interest

Here are some links I've been meaning to post, but have been to lazy to get to!

A feminist Muslim group in France, Ni Putes ni Soumises (Neither Promiscuous nor Submissive) protests against the burka in Paris: http://tinyurl.com/yzfjd9x


A discussion of why reform Judaism hasn't caught on in France: http://tinyurl.com/yky23uz


Anti-Islam sentiment is gaining political ground in Europe: http://tinyurl.com/ygr7s8k


Fatih Akin, German-Turkish director of Edge of Heaven and In July, comments on the national identity debate in France: http://tinyurl.com/ykum4bj

Changing Face in Poland

Adam Lach for The New York Times

There’s an interesting piece in the New York Times this week about a former Polish neo-Nazi who discovered his Jewish roots as an adult and now has become ultra-Orthodox. As he acknowledges in the article, “he was drawn to extremes.”

The piece brings up more questions than it answers. First of all, there is no discussion about how Pawel (or Pinchas), this article’s protagonist, has been received by the Orthodox community. How do they feel about having a former neo-Nazi in their midst? Have they seen this kind of conversion before? And does Pawel feel like he has been accepted by this community that he used to hate? Moreover, the article talks about his now being the subject of anti-Semitism taunts. How does he respond? Is he involved with any type of outreach to try and affect how Jews are seen in Poland?

Second of all, there was little discussion of why he became a skinhead in the first place. The journalist writes that Pawel used neo-Nazism to break out of the Socialist mold. But I would have liked to know more about what drove him in that direction when he could have chosen less violent and hateful ways to rebel.

Lastly, I was struck by the quotes from the Chief Rabbi in Poland, Rabbi Michael Schudrich. At one point he says, ““Before 1989 there was a feeling that it was not safe to say, ‘I am a Jew.’ But two decades later, there is a growing feeling that Jews are a missing limb in Poland. The level of anti-Semitism remains unacceptable, but the image of the murderous Pole seared in the consciousness of many Jews after the war doesn’t correspond to the Poland of 2010.” It is interesting that the Chief Rabbi is so optimistic in his assessment of Jewish life in Poland when Piotr Brozek, a 22 year old non-Jewish Pole responsible for Henio’s Facebook page, still is quite pessimistic. In my conversation with him, he told me that it is only people of his generation who want to change the anti-Semitic mindset that exists in Poland. The older generations, he believes, are unwilling or unable to break out of that mold. So who is right? And why do Jews and non-Jews hold such disparate views?

While Pawel’s story is certainly engrossing, it is also frustrating. It focuses on the sensational, at the expense of the quotidian. Where are the stories about ordinary Polish Jews? Who are they? Where are they? Between articles like this one and ones about young Poles attending Yiddish festivals and listening to Israeli hip-hop (neither of which makes them Jewish), we learn nothing about the typical life of a contemporary Polish Jew.

This kind of information is equally, if perhaps not more important, than the sensational stories. Why? Because there is still a great deal of suspicion and fear within the larger Jewish community towards Poland, as Rabbi Schudrich points out. Few American Jews, for instance, experience Poland outside of its death camps. There is very little understanding or acknowledgement that Jewish life is once again growing there. Articles like this one do little to change the narrative arc. I would like to see more pieces about Jewish youth movements or about a Bat/Bar Mitzvah class--something that would offer a fuller, more nuanced, picture ofJewish rhythms of Poland.

Too Close to Home?

Ever since the ban on minarets in Switzerland was announced, I've been mulling over the similarities and differences between that and the restrictions on synagogue construction that was prevalent in pre-World War II Europe. I seem to remember, for instance, that synagogues in Germany, until the Neue Syangoge in the mid-1800s, were required to be built behind a plain facade and away from the street. Even after the Neue Synagogue was built, it was met with significant criticism (much of it anti-Semitic in tone) that has echoes in the rhetoric used about the minarets today.

So, I was very pleased to see an article in JTA by Ruth Ellen Gruber, author and journalist, that addressed this very issue. While she doesn't see exact parallels, the recent ban certainly recalls those earlier restrictions and considers it to be a true cause for concern.

"I know it's a very long way from a ban on new minarets to the much more drastic measures that led to this state of affairs. But as my brother Sam put it, "Restricting specific types of religious or cultural expression -- especially when such restrictions are deliberate exceptions to existing building, zoning, health and safety codes -- is discriminatory." It is, he said, "an act of denigration of cultural custom and, by extension, of the people who cherish, or the religion that requires, those very customs."

Don't Rain on My Parade

I am using my executive powers as writer of this blog to post this tangentially Jewish-related video clip. It's from the finale of Glee with Rachel (Jewish female lead) singing Don't Rain on My Parade from Funny Girl (about a Jewish protagonist), not to mention one of Barbra Streisand's (also Jewish) signature vehicles. Have I belabored the point enough? Anyway, ignore me and just watch. Amazing!!

Meow

While perusing the bookshelves at Barnes and Nobel yesterday, I came across a wonderful graphic novel entitled The Rabbi’s Cat by the French artist/author, Joann Sfar, best known in the US for his children’s series, The Little Vampire. The Rabbi’s Cat tells the story of a Rabbi, his daughter Zlabya, and their talking cat who live in Algiers in the 1930s when Algeria was still part of France. Narrated by the cat, who is studying to become Bar Mitzvah, the intricate illustrations and the gentle, yet poignant story line draws readers into a seemingly simple world that soon reveals itself in all its complexities. Perfectly situated on the line between perfect and im, wise and bumbling, sacred and profane, Sfar characters made me nostalgic for a time and place that exists only within his, and now my, imagination. But the themes that he draws upon, of internal religious struggle, of familial bonds, of humanness are universal and very real.

The only drawback of the book is the unwritten epilogue. Although only we know it of course, Sfar’s creations are heading for an abyss that they do not see. I can hope that with the help of ever wise magical cat, they will manage to survive.

Even if the very thought of a graphic novel finds you running towards the nearest exit, resist. This is most definitely a book worth getting to know.

Dear Mr. Shalev

Well, the mystery is solved…sort of. The infamous “Arbeit Macht Frei” sign stolen from Auschwitz three days ago has been recovered on the other side of the country from where it was taken. At this point, the Polish police are refusing to comment on the circumstances surrounding the theft or on the motives although five men have been detained. But what has been most striking throughout this whole incident is the wild rhetoric that erupted in its wake. The comment that really got my attention, was one made by Avner Shalev, director of Yad Vashem, the day the sign was reported missing. According to reports by JTA and the BBC, he called the theft “a true declaration of war.”

To which I say: Mr. Shalev, please explain yourself. What does “a true declaration of war” mean? Who is Israel now at war with? With all of Poland? With Polish neo-Nazis (the presumed perpetrators)? With the thieves themselves? With anti-Semitism? And is it all of Israel that is now at war with one or all of these groups or is it just Yad Vashem? Or are Jews around the world at war? Will I be expected to grab a weapon and fight? Yes, I am being a little flip and perhaps it’s not appropriate, but with all due respect, your reaction completely over the top. Yes, this was a vandalization of a sacred place for Jews and for all other groups imprisoned and killed in Auschwitz. But the Polish government and police acted appropriately and after only three days, the sign was found. If these civil bodies reacted more coolly or ignored the incident all together, then it would be cause for greater outrage. But they didn’t.

Moreover, while the theft of the sign is serious, it’s still less serious than if a synagogue had been torched, Jewish Poles had been killed, or any other acts of senseless violence had been perpetrated. Again, if that were the case, then it would be cause for serious concern. But it wasn’t. So please Mr. Shalev, save your declarations of war for the truly heinous acts.

Update (1/1/10): It looks like the Swedes might have been behind the theft.