French connections

Part two of a portrait of a community under siege

NADINE JOSEPH

During the past months, attacks upon Jews and Jewish institutions in France - including synagogues and cemeteries - have intensified. Part one of this two-part series revealed how these attacks have splintered the Jewish community along lines of religious observance, social class, politics, age and origins. It also showed that the community has been shocked by the government's initial reaction to downplay the seriousness of the attacks. As the threat of continued anti-Semitic attacks remains, some French Jews believe they have reacted as forcefully as they should, while others believe they have not reacted forcefully enough.

Eric Wahed, president of a Jewish university student group in Marseille, holds some of the charred remains of the synagogue in Caillol, which was burned down earlier this year. Photo by Nadine Joseph

Pierre Levy describes his grandfathers as "bleu-blanc-rouge," very patriotic, emphasizing their French identity over their Jewish identity.

During the past few months, however, he says people have been asking themselves, " 'Am I French?' And the answer is a resounding, 'Yes. Yes, we are French, but we must be more vigilant.' "

Nevertheless, some Jews assail this vision. They believe that the Jewish establishment remains in denial. Freddy Raphael, professor of sociology at the Marc Bloch University in Strasbourg and a leftist, believes the Jewish leaders in France underestimate the deep crisis it now faces.

"They have very little contact with most Muslims and they've developed the myth of an assault against a Jewish fortress like the Masada," he says. "Our Jewish establishment deprives itself of the richness of different points of view. It self-reproduces, self-recruits, remains oligarchic and far too self-complacent," he adds.

The Jewish leadership has not acknowledged Judeophobia, as outlined by political scientist Pierre-Andre Taguieff in his book "The New Judeophobia."

"It's a new form of anti-Judaism in which the Jew becomes the archetype of the oppressor in collusion with American imperialism," says Raphael.

Taguieff, a non-Jewish intellectual, also believes that French officials minimize the hate crimes against Jews and the dangers of Islamic fundamentalism. "Into this supposedly calm, sympathetic, open Islam seeps a religious fervor that hides fury and rage," says Taguieff in an interview at a Paris brasserie. "When synagogues burn," he says, "it is always a sign of a grave danger."

Few Jews in power admit to any grave danger. They also reject any outside intervention. In fact, they resent Israel's call to French Jews to make aliyah. They attack the American Jewish Congress for suggesting a boycott of the Cannes Film Festival and French products.

Even Raphael rages at outsiders. "We reject this meddlesome intrusion that inflames and infuriates," he says.

French Holocaust survivors are as furious as the rest. "There's no need to panic, just to pay attention," says Alexandre Danemans, 72, a retired businessman and Holocaust survivor. Born in Poland, Danemans, married to a non-Jew, remained a Jew without much community involvement.

"I don't announce that I'm Jewish nor do I deny it," Danemans says. "In my close circle of friends, we just don't discuss religion. French Jewry clings to the old principle that the less noise you make, the better off you are."

His views stem from his wartime experiences. Barely 12, Danemans watched as his parents were arrested in Tours to be shipped off to Auschwitz. He found a safe haven with a Catholic family in a neighboring town. They sheltered him, passing him off as a nephew for the entire war.

Gilbert May, 77, born in Strasbourg into one of Alsace's oldest Jewish families, owes his life to a protective archbishop. Like Danemans, he has seen worse periods and believes this one will blow over. May, vice president of the Jewish organization LICRA (League against Racism), joined the French Resistance in 1939, eventually was arrested by the Gestapo and landed in Struthof, France's only concentration camp.

"I think Alsace has always been anti-Semitic. One of the expressions used every day here is 'You're worse than a Jew,' " May says.

As a soccer referee in the 1950s, he was often called a "dirty Jew." At his urging, the league suspended name callers for a month, with little effect.

More recently, as guest speaker about the Holocaust at a public school, May advised a Jewish child who shyly whispered, "What do I do when kids shove me and insult me?" May's answer was simple: "You have to beat them up. It's not a matter of courage but of survival."

Jewish organizers of the event were none too pleased.

Such diffidence among community leadership is typical. Because of it, the impetus for change has come from Jewish students, frontline targets of harassment.

"My male friends are kicked and pushed when they wear kipot," says Astrid Pouleur, 23, a university student in Marseille. "I feel that no one listens to me anymore when I talk about politics, as though my being Jewish pollutes my ideas."

The Jewish students' organization, UEJF, recently joined forces with SOS Racisme - a respected anti-racism group headed by an Algerian - to co-write a white paper on anti-Semitic acts over the past two years.

"Our worst fear is indifference," says Eric Wahed, 24, president of the UEJF's Marseille chapter, who organizes rallies and counters pro-Palestinian propaganda on campus. He was stunned just last month as he watched the synagogue in Caillol burn to the ground.

"We have to mobilize and fight back," Wahed says.

In several cities, small committees have formed to strategize. In Strasbourg, six men and women crowd around Janine Elkouby's dining room table in a spacious apartment a few blocks from the Grande Synagogue. The group formed in November to counter media "disinformation" about Israel, brainstorm with the local Jewish students' organization, revamp the Jewish radio station and organize rallies against anti-Semitism.

Elkouby, 55, a high school literature teacher, felt anguished and isolated after a Jewish school was burned.

"I always felt very French and very Jewish, proud of this double allegiance," she says. "After the anti-Semitic acts in our neighborhood, I started using the word 'they' instead of 'we' when I was talking about the French people."

Robert Fedida, a 45-year-old businessman of Moroccan origin, feels discouraged by the increasing number of hate crimes and the government's feeble response.

"It feels like a bulldozer aimed at us," he says. "We can limit the damage, but we're the little machine fighting a huge bulldozer."

Claude Sabbah, director of ORT, believes that small, informal groups can make a difference. "Traditional Jewish organizations know how to budget, allocate funds and organize events. But that's not enough. We have to think out of the box," he says.

So far, that hasn't happened. Shimon Samuels, head of the Simon Wiesenthal Center in Paris, points to the contrast between two recent rallies in Paris. The rally against anti-Semitism drew 200,000 but no major political candidates. The anti-Israel demonstration boasted a coalition of Trotskyites, anarchists, Greens, atheists, homeless advocates, migrants, AIDS activists and anti-globalization groups, as well as Jose Bove, the anti-McDonald's activist and Ramallah supporter of Arafat.

Fragile Muslim-Jewish relations are unraveling as well. Muslim members of Strasbourg's Jewish soccer club quit, claiming players support Israel too fervently. Murielle Schor, a dental surgeon and candidate for deputy in the 17th arrondissement, patched together a joint commission of Jews and Muslims. The two groups tried to write a charter, but Muslims insisted on language that criticized Israel for violating human rights.

"We got along well as long as we had a common enemy in Le Pen," says Schor.

Tasteless jokes are also making the rounds, says Samuels. One begins: Who are America's three greatest super-heroes? Superman, who flies over tall buildings; Spiderman, who climbs along tall buildings; and Musul-man (French for Muslim), who blows up tall buildings.

Individual friendships with Arabs are also chilling. An Arab friend had commissioned a painting from Kessel of a village near Bethlehem, with two women in long robes walking through the streets. The friend became more belligerent during their usual debates about the Middle East. The next day he told Kessel that he could not be his friend or pay him for the painting. Kessel brought the painting back to his studio and, in a fit of pique, painted a mezuzah on the door of each Arab home.

Kessel and others blame French TV for some of the tension. The French media - from its wire service AFP to Le Monde to French TV - have portrayed Palestinian suicide bombers with sympathy as martyrs and "resistants" during Israeli "occupation" and Israelis as "colons" (colonialists). These happen to be loaded words in France, which is still expiating its dubious role in the Holocaust.

For years, Dr. Jean Daniel Flaysakier kept mum about his colleagues' pro-Palestinian bias at France 2 and other national television networks. Recently, France 2's reporting became even more one-sided. For days the network broadcast allegations of massacres of thousands of Palestinians in Jenin but ignored contrary information from nongovernmental organizations. The network also gave an inaccurate toll of Israeli losses.

Flaysakier, 50, a prominent medical commentator on France 2, exploded at work in response to a colleague airing two sound bites after a bombing of a Palestinian school in East Jerusalem. His colleague had used a sound bite from a West Bank settler saying, "If the army doesn't do its duty, we will have to defend ourselves." That quote, says Flaysakier, had nothing to do with the bombing and was taken out of context. "I burst out and said, 'I'm fed up with this reporter and his obvious bias.' "

The reporter screamed back, "You are attacking me?"
"Yes," said Flaysakier, "because you're a militant, not a journalist."

Flaysakier's outburst caused a furor at the television station.

"It's politically correct in the French media to attack Israel," says Flaysakier, who has a post-doctorate degree from Harvard.

After the incident, a cameraman remarked, "You're a Jew and you're worried because your family lives there, right?"

Flaysakier suggested that question itself was anti-Semitic.

"People deny Israel's right to exist, and when you point out that they are biased, they accuse you of dual allegiance," he says. As Flaysakier notes, the media portrayal of Israel may fuel anti-Jewish sentiments. "Palestinians seem to be the poor, unarmed underdog. Unfortunately, sympathy for them also wakes up anti-Semitic feelings, which are bubbling under the surface," he says. "The press perceives the Middle East conflict in a Manichean way - the good guys vs. the bad guys, like a Western."

Another biased report focused on a French cameraman wounded in a West Bank shooting. The bullet was quickly identified as coming from a 9 mm gun, used only by Palestinians (Israelis use M16s). In the stories, broadcasters consistently claimed the bullet came "from undetermined origin."

"They never told the truth," says Flaysakier.

Such bias will continue to stir problems, many fear.

"I see it getting a lot worse before it gets better," says Samuels of the Wiesenthal Center.

Part one of Joseph's investigation of French Jewry, "French connections: portrait of a community under siege," can be found here on the Jewish News Web site.