Jacob Hougie on Judeo-Christian Values - Ainsley Rucker on Cork JSoc
Laura Jones on interfaith marriage - Aaron Black on the Year of Student Sport
Jack Lubner on Perdition – Mischa Gerrard on finding community
On Thursday 12th January 2023, the National Union of Students released the findings of a much-anticipated Kings Counsel investigation into antisemitism within the Union. The report was detailed and damning, with the KC confirming that Jewish students had faced harassment and discrimination. We spent the day briefing journalists, parliamentarians, and sabbatical officers from student unions across the country. It felt a little surreal and daunting. In my first week at UJS, I was tasked with compiling our submission to the Tuck investigation, a few months later, here we were being asked for comment by national and international media. This report attests the mistreatment of generations of brave students’ activists including those who fought this fight decades before I was even born. I hope our re-
sponse did them justice and am moved beyond words by their messages of support. The Labour frontbencher and former NUS President Wes Streeting, described the report as, “a vindication of UJS and others who sounded the alarm about NUS’s failure to tackle antisemitism within in its ranks.” He argued that “Jewish students have shown real courage in the face of terrible adversity”. Indeed, this report was the latest blow to the apologists who, having denied antisemitism in the Labour Party, predictably responded the report with inarticulate and frustrated spluttering of incredulity. This is the eighth report that touches on antisemitism in NUS since 2005, a year in which three Jewish students resigned from the union’s executive. At the 2005 conference, the General Union of Palestinian Students (GUPS) distributed a leaflet explaining why “Jews are not a Race” and another leaflet that referencing the Protocols of the Elders of Zion forgery – featured on the GUPS stall. Kosher food was not provided and event for international students was scheduled to take place on a the Jewish sabbath. An NEC member responded to a UJS com-
plaint about the scheduling by lamenting that “When Jewish students cough and sneeze within NUS everyone jumps.” He alleged that UJS were “conspiring with political factions to stab him in the back”. At the 2015 NUS Conference, the UJS stall was graffitied. The report confirms that a Jewish student was targeted by hostile activists after Coca-Cola sponsored the conference, even though they had nothing to do with the sponsorship agreement. They were told by an officer from another university to “Enjoy the sweet taste of a dead baby’s blood in that coke you’re loving”. The officer who used invoked the blood libel would later be elected to NUS Scotland. The Jewish student was escorted around conference by members of their students union’s staff “to protect me because the crowd was particularly hostile towards me”. In 2016 objections to commem-
It felt a little surreal and daunting.
blow to the
orating Holocaust Memorial Day were applauded. In the words of a Jewish attendee: “I had never come across people who genuinely did not understand the antisemitic nature of the Holocaust. For that position to be applauded was very shocking. It had been tabled to be a unifying motion.” Another recalled that: “no speech had been prepared to answer any objection to marking HMD because I could not believe anyone would object.”
In the years that followed an NUS commissioned report revealed that two thirds of Jewish students disagreed or disagreed strongly that NUS would respond appropriately to allegations of antisemitism if they arose. By April 2022 over a thousand Jewish students accused NUS of creating a ‘climate of fear’ after the organisation invited a disgraced conspiracist to headline their hundredth birthday party.
Against this backdrop, it can be
easy to despair, but we should take pride in our united response to the bigotry within NUS. In the space of a few months, we wrote an open letter demanding an investigation, compiled evidence, been interviewed and suggested recommendations. We now have a substantial report that bears witness to the lived experiences of Jewish students and the findings and recommendations of which been accepted in full by the Union. And yet, that is not our story. Despite unrelenting pressure, Jewish life on campus continues. The CST’s campus antisemitism report states that ‘the vast majority of Jewish students have an excellent experience during their studies’. hearing about my work, family friends usually have two responses: “is that an actual job?” or “you’ve got your work cut out” followed by a resigned sigh. I don’t agree with their dispiritedness. Yes, times are tough but I’m incredibly lucky to have the best job in the community. Unremarked by commentators, Jewish students exhibit a brilliant resilience.
Rabbi Harold M. Schulweis argued that “to be an anti-antisemite does not make you a Jew: it simply robs you of Jewish song and poetry, Jewish philosophy and a
Jewish joy.” That is a mindset I see born out by Jewish students in every corner of the UK and Ireland, who refuse to give up on Jewish joy. In the last few months, we’ve set up six new JSocs and are on course to deliver thousands more Friday night dinners than we did last year. We’ve launched new initiatives and re-launched old ones. This spring edition of Aleph showcases a remarkable flourishing of Jewish life on campus, from the Year of Student Sport to the new JSoc at Cork; from Chanukah on Ice to the return of Jewniversity challenge. Every Friday night, dozens of student communities gather, in remote old synagogues and in crowded newbuild accommodation, in university towns and in city centres, if you look you can find Jewish song and Jewish poetry. In the words of OneRepublic: the future looks good.
The
Guy Dabby-Joory, Editor-in-Chief
Sarah Wilks, Senior Editor
Joel Rosen, Senior Editor
Dora Hirsh, News Editor
Grace Silverstein, Design Editor
Leah Mitchell, Editor
Leah Stein, Editor
Hannah Selig, Editor
Jewish students exhibit a brilliant resilience.
I’m incredibly lucky to have the best job in the community.
During September and October, JSocs big and small worked hard hosting stalls at freshers’ fairs across the country. Freshers’ fairs are a vital part of Jewish student life because it lets students know that their JSoc is there for them, and they are a great way to get new students involved! UJS delivered 2000 freshers packs to be handed out to new students, as well as special blue t-shirts for committee members so they would be recognised as a friendly face. JSoc committees, joined by their Sabbatical Officers, signed students up to JSoc, answered questions, and most importantly, were proud examples of what Jewish life on campus can look like at its best. Some freshers knew to look out for their JSoc’s stall, while others stumbled across them, surprised that their university had any Jewish students at all! In total, UJS sabs visited 60 JSocs during the freshers’ period. Some of the busiest stalls were hosted at Leeds, UCL and Kings. Our fast-growing JSocs also ran fabulous stalls, for example at Bath, Sheffield and Edinburgh. And of course, even the smallest JSocs hosted terrific stalls, for example students at Lancaster, Huddersfield and Hertfordshire, with a special shout out to Jewish students at Lincoln, where despite having no official JSoc, 10 Jewish students signed up to help create one!
Back in November, UJS organised Holocaust Survivor Week - a week dedicated to listening to Holocaust survivor testimony and honouring the horrors they went through. On Monday, Tomi Reichental spoke to students at Bristol, Cork, Dublin and Belfast JSocs about his life in Slovakia as a child, his deportation to Bergen-Belsen, and how he moved to Ireland to be-
come one of its only Holocaust survivors. On Tuesday, Huddersfield heard from Liesel Carter, who told her story of how she came to England at 4 years old. After being transferred through a number of families to get there from Germany, including a period living in Sweden and Norway, she found safety in Britain in January 1940. On Wednesday, Birmingham JSoc heard from second generation survivor Michael Bandel, who told his father’s story of survival in Auschwitz, Mauthausen and Ebensee concentration camps. On Thursday, Oxford JSoc heard Irene Gill’s testimony, with Warwick
JSoc joining via Zoom. Irene was born in Germany, from where she escaped to Denmark in 1936, before then moving to Oxford, where she has lived since she was six years old. Irene shared her experiences and how they have informed her political views to an overflowing lecture hall in Oxford, which was a unique and really interesting perspective. We were so proud to have delivered this programming, and would like to extend our gratitude to Tomi, Liesel, Michael, and Irene who generously gave their time, as well as to all the JSocs which hosted them and promoted the events.
Interfaith Week 2022 took place from the 13th to 20th November. UJS held many events, and supported JSocs to host their own.
At the start of the week, UJS hosted a zoom talk with Zaynab from StandUp! Education which included great discussions about various challenges of interfaith work and advice on how to be inclusive within work and student environments.
UJS also co-hosted a student panel with Faith & Belief Forum where four different speakers shared what it’s like for them to practise their faith on their university campus.
In addition to this, UJS worked with the Multifaith Youth Centre and students of different faiths for an Instagram takeover. Each student shared videos explaining different aspects of their faith, such as their favourite festivals and challenges faced on campus. You can check out the takeover on the Instagram highlights at @ujs_uk!
On campus, JSocs got involved in various projects including interfaith Friday night dinners, interfaith stalls on campus, clothing and food bank collections in collaboration with other faith societies, and various other interfaith socials and dinners.
This year for Mitzvah Day, UJS held a Winter Warmers collection in collaboration with Jewish Care. The warm items collected were donated to Homeless Action in Barnet.
On campus, JSocs got involved in projects including food bank collections, soup kitchen volunteering, food packing, litter pick-ups, and clothing collections. It was great to see that many of these initiatives were done in collaboration with other faith societies!
In November, UJS co-hosted a Holocaust education project called Lessons From Auschwitz Universities (LFAU), alongside the Holocaust Education Trust, and funded by the Department for Education. The course included three educational seminars via Zoom, as well as a trip to Auschwitz concentration camp, for 150 university leaders across England, including senior university staff, student union staff and student leaders. The first seminar focussed on antisemitism and how its rise across Europe in the 20th century culminated in the Holocaust. Faye, UJS Head of Campaigns, gave a presentation about contemporary manifestations of antisemitism on campus, and also about the IHRA definition of antisemitism. In the second seminar, participants heard from Holocaust survivor Eva Clarke, who had been born in Mauthausen concentration camp. There was a chance for participants to ask questions to gain a deeper understanding of life in the camps. Next came the trip to Auschwitz. It was a one day trip, with our flight taking off at 6:30 in the morning. Our first stop was Auschwitz I, where we viewed the haunting exhibits of luggage, shoes, belongings and hair belonging to Holocaust victims. Our second stop was Auschwitz II, where participants saw the train tracks that transported prisoners to the camp, and the barracks where they were housed. At the end of the day, we held a closing ceremony in the camp, when we heard from Rabbi Barry Marcus, Bradley Langer and Faye, and ended with the sounding of the shofar. The final Zoom seminar was a chance to talk about what we had seen and process together. We also heard from a third generation Holocaust survivor to learn about the lasting legacy and how it continues to impact lives today. The programme was important and impactful, and a memorable experience for all participants.
Growing up in rural Somerset, my family members were the only Jewish people I knew, and it wasn’t until I went to university that I met other Jews my own age. Many Jews gravitate towards cities containing established Jewish communities, granting them a feeling of something shared – whether that be faith or culture. However, I was brought up outside of a Jewish community, in an area in which my family were more often than not the only Jewish people I knew or had ever met.
Expressions of faith were, throughout my childhood, in the absence of a synagogue to worship in, limited to the home, to candle lighting (when remembered) on Friday nights, to my dad encouraging us to sing the Ma’oz Tzur off of our phone screens during Hanukkah. I also came to witness a phenomenon whereby my Jewishness, which in a community containing other Jews would not have provoked interest, instead came to be seen by others as my primary identity, and I became identified first and foremost as a Jew. This was especially the case throughout my time at school and felt rather ironic that – given the alienation I felt from my faith– I should come to be seen as so Jewish by others.
At school my Jewishness was always a point of interest and curiosity, and I was happy to share what I knew about my faith and educate others. However,
I often found myself feeling let down by the religious education that was provided by teachers who’d never met a Jew before and had made seemingly little effort to educate themselves on Judaism, instead relying heavily on vague stereotypes and a blurry concept of what constituted a Jewish person. These classes were at best inaccurate and at worst harmful; I can recall several occasions in which they actively fuelled antisemitic sentiment that was directed towards me by classmates. Antisemitic myths were propagated due to ignorance and presented to impressionable teens as fact without consideration of their impact. Such was the case with a lesson in which an RE teacher made the claim that the Jews killed Jesus, and another in which the same teacher, upon being asked how the Nazis knew who was Jewish, singled me out in class and outlined how I would have been identified as a Jew by the Nazis because of my “Jewish” nose. Something as simple as laziness may have been at the core of their failures, but irreparable harm was caused as a consequence, as my classmates accepted at face value what they were taught, missing out on an invaluable opportunity to learn about the Jewish tradition and potentially break the cycle of ignorance.
Now, as a university student, I live in Belfast, a deeply divided society in which people have traditionally segregated themselves across religious lines. I feel it relevant at this point to recount a conversation I had during my first week there. I was at a social event designed to introduce new students to others in our department when mid-way through a conversation I was asked whether I was Protestant or Catholic. I responded saying I’m Jewish, to which the asker of the question then reiterated, asking me “Well, are you a Protestant Jew or a Catholic Jew?”.
In Belfast I have found once again that many instances of antisemitism are not fuelled by hatred but by ignorance and a preoccupation with the city’s own religious divisions. Living in an area so dominated by religious tensions, I see education as more necessary than ever as a tool to aid our tolerance of one another.
I see education as more necessary than ever as a tool to aid our tolerance of one another
Despite significant attempts by many Polish Holocaust survivors (about a tenth of the pre-war population) to rebuild their life locally in the aftermath of the Second World War, the desire to leave a country where Jewish life was industrially annihilated, exacerbated by state indifference in combating continued popular antisemitism, rendered any communal task virtually impossible – a difficulty that was further exacerbated by a thinly veiled government-sponsored ‘anti-Zionist’ campaign in 1968. The minority that did not emigrate largely kept their Jewishness hidden, including to their children, with many changing their names and renouncing Jewish customs and culture. This makes the Jewish revival after the end of one-party rule in 1989 all the more remarkable. With new political freedoms, connections with the outside Jewish world were re-established. Catalysed by philanthropic donations and state subsidies, further developments took place – religious kehilot received their property back after six decades, Jewish Community Centres were established in Kraków and Warsaw, and there has been a renewed fascination with Jewish culture, going hand in hand with the study of Jewish history. All of this has been made more visible to the outside world, with the increase in Jewish tourism and pilgrimage becoming an important part of many local economies, affecting both Jewish and non-Jewish residents.
Of course, much work still needs to be done for Jews in Poland to reach higher states of cultural and communal fulfilment - particularly as popular antisemitism persists in a substantial section of the population - but the achievements of the last three decades should fill Jews throughout the world with pride and hope for future developments. Although the majority of the work has inevitably been conducted by locals (including many non-Jews) it is important to emphasise the transnational nature of the process, personified by emissaries from various organisations, hired leaders of religious services, as well as immigrants who may have come to Poland primarily for unrelated reasons but are committed to helping rebuild local Jewish life. These immigrants come from the United States, Britain, France, Israel and other countries, but by far the largest contingent in recent years has arrived from Ukraine. All of this means that it is now commonplace at communal events to hear conversations in three or four languages at different tables. As well as acting as a living rejection of ethnonationalism, the mortal enemy of Diaspora Jewry, these developments demonstrate the wonderful diversity of Jewish life and culture. Leaving aside the crude notion that Jewish communities should pragmatically avoid unnecessary entry barriers and divisions, especially smaller ones, what is also important is that Jews joining us from
abroad are likely to have experienced methods of Jewish organisation, with all their values and limitations, in larger and more established communities. It is with that in mind that I strongly encourage those organising trips to Poland, or even individual travellers, not only to visit us to commemorate the past - important as that is - but to witness the rebuilding of Jewish life in Poland. This applies particularly to student and youth organisations, who help build the future of the community. For young Polish Jews, the experience of UJS staff and Anglo-Jewish students would be extremely insightful, and the development of stronger ties and regular contacts could be priceless. International organisations also have a role to play. Unfortunately, the European Union of Jewish Students still lists ŻOOM (Polish Jewish Youth Organisation) as its Polish member, despite its liquidation in 2016. ŻOOM’s dissolution was a step backwards, but the JCC Youth and Hillel Student Clubs in Kraków and Warsaw are excellent starting points for UJS, EUJS, and others to forge ties with Polish Jewish youth - not just to educate these brave young trailblazers, but also to learn a thing or two about the Diaspora themselves.
These developments demonstrate the wonderful diversity of Jewish life and culture.
When I was eight years old I found out for the first time that I wasn’t like the other kids at my Jewish elementary school. We were talking about what our families did for Hanukkah, and I told the other kids that because my dad wasn’t Jewish, we had a Christmas tree in our house in addition to the Menorah. The other kids at the table were stunned. Someone asked me if that meant I was only half-Jewish, very strongly emphasising the ‘only’. I didn’t know what to say. I had never considered that a person could be half-Jewish. On the way home that day I asked my mom if I was “half-Jewish” and she didn’t skip a beat, asking me “well do you believe half in Christianity and half in Judaism?” I said no, and she said “well if you believe 100% in Judaism then you aren’t half-Jewish are you?” This made perfect sense to me. I did not consider that something that felt so logically sound could be as complicated or controversial as it is. The last year of Hebrew school at my synagogue is for 15 to 16-year-olds. The goal is to help them maintain their Jewish beliefs and practices when they leave their family homes to go out into the secular world. I was always late for these classes as my synagogue was an hour away from my
high school and I had to fight the director of my school musical to let me skip rehearsals on Wednesdays in order to attend. One particular day, as I walked into the class the rabbi greeted me saying, “Laura you’re just in time, I was telling everyone how your family is a rare example of a successful interfaith family”. I don’t remember much from the lesson that day, which was focused on intermarriages. All I know is I could hear my heart beating in my ears. The one point I remember with perfect clarity, which felt like yet another stab in the back, was the rabbi discouraging me and my peers from marrying non-Jews because the Conservative Rabbinic Council prohibited their rabbis from officiating these marriages, and he wouldn’t be able to perform our weddings. This was probably the most poignant argument he could have given. Our Hebrew school class had the rabbi’s son in it. He’d gone to preschool and
all of Hebrew school with us, many had playdates at his house, a few of us had even been at summer camp together, and we’d been B’nai Mitzvah’d in the same year, all by the same rabbi. This rabbi was not just a distant authority figure to us, he was a parent of one of our classmates, someone that had been a part of our lives for as long as we remembered. I had honestly assumed that he would probably perform most of our weddings. What I found especially interesting was that the week before we had learned about how in 2006 the decision was made that Conservative Rabbis were allowed to perform gay marriages, on the basis that disallowing gay marriage denied LGBTQ+ people their dignity, and that maintaining human dignity in this case “requires suspension of the rabbinic level prohibitions” (Dorff, Nevins and Reisner, 2012). Being bisexual, I was thrilled to know gender would not be an area of concern when I found a person I wanted to marry. But now I had another question to worry over: how the dignity of marrying the partner of your choice is somehow not afforded when a person wants to marry a non-Jew. In all honesty, due to the complex na-
When she was eight years old, she was told at school that she was only ‘half-Jewish’. Now the co-President of her JSoc, Laura Jones shares her story.
I could hear my heart beating in my ears.
ture of Jewish religious argument, I cannot begin to claim that I currently have the experience it takes to craft a religious argument that holds air.
The most pressing concern to myself and many others in educational settings and casual discussions of this topic, is the concern that intermarriage leads to assimilation. Assimilation is a legitimate concern to have considering the meagre size of the world’s Jewish population in comparison to major religious and ethnic groups. We’re a small group and losing numbers can mean losing traditions.
In a poll from 2021 of Jews in the US, the Pew Research Center found that 60% of Jewish respondents who had gotten married in the past decade had married a non-Jew, compared to 45% between 2000 and 2009. This mirrors a 20% decrease in American Jews identifying as Jewish by religion over the same time period. Additionally, only 28% of intermarried American Jews say they’ll raise their children Jewish by religion, compared to 93% of married couples that are both Jewish (Pew Research Center, 2021 and Liu, 2013).
This data can be scary sounding and seems like it should be damning evidence that intermarriage is linked to assimilation, and plenty of rabbinic authorities treat it as such. However, there are holes in this argument that they fail to consider.
A major point that this argument fails to account for is the retention rate by generation. According to a Pew Research poll in 2013, 25% of those 65 and older with intermarried parents still identify as Jewish, but of adults 30 and younger with intermarried parents, 59% still identify as Jewish (Cooperman and Smith, 2013). Simply put, as time goes on, people with only one Jewish parent are growing more likely to retain their connection to Judaism.
We don’t have a lot of data
on why this is, but I have an idea. It’s a common trope of the Jewish mother or grandmother demanding that their child meet a nice Jewish partner from a nice Jewish family. I know it was the first question my grandmother asked me about my partner: is he Jewish? The push to marry a Jew is very strong in most Jewish families. So if a person doesn’t feel like their partner is accepted by the Jewish community, and maybe this familial tension taints how a person feels about their Jewish identity, it only makes sense that they might start to think maybe Judaism isn’t for them. As time goes on though the Jewish community is more open to a lot of social movements, and marrying a nonJew has become more standard over time. Not only does this make it more possible for intermarried people to be accepted in Jewish communities, but it makes it more likely that their children will have positive experiences in Jewish spaces, and continue to identify with it. So, I would argue that the problem isn’t necessarily that interfaith marriage causes assimilation, but that fear of assimilation by intermarriage has historically pushed intermarried Jews out of the Jewish community. But times are changing. If 59% of adults below 30 with intermarried parents identify as Jewish, then what makes me the “rare” success that my rabbi called me? Well, let’s look at my life. Jewish preschool, Jewish elementary school, Jewish middle school, Jewish high school. I was the only person attending
Jewish high school in my Hebrew school class, and I got all A’s in my Jewish classes (I was by no means a straight-A student). I’m the co-leader of my University’s Jewish Society, and I will talk to anyone who stands still long enough about the exact texts I studied throughout my life that make me love Judaism or how Jewish theatre made me love theatre. When we light the candles on Hanukkah my family makes me lead the prayers because I’m the “professional Jew” of the family. The flat, where I live with my partner (who is not Jewish) has a mezuzah on the door, a menorah on the mantle, and a bookshelf with a section devoted to Jewish books. None of this was a fluke. I am not a rare success of intermarriage. I am a success story of my mother and the Jewish education that my mother pushed for me to have. Why did she push for me to have it? Because she would not have her child be half-Jewish, or feel cast to the edges of Jewish culture. I could not be who I am today if I was born at a time when having a non-Jewish father would discount me from Jewish life and learning. If anything I am a rare success in modern Jewish life, which accepted my nontraditional family and gave a girl the same chances as it would the boys. Born in a time when human dignity mattered, and where Jews of all kinds found more acceptance in the Jewish community. Born at a time when 64% of American Jews think rabbis should perform interfaith marriages (Pew Research Center, 2021). This new time is beautiful, and so much of the Jewish community is moving with it. In turn, it’s time for Conservative rabbis to change this rule, so that their congregants can be married by their rabbis without fuss, and not be talked about like “the good ones” of a bad bunch. I pray I will someday have the rabbi who performed my Bat Mitzvah officiate my wedding, that my partner will smash the glass and that all of us in the newest generation of Jews will see days where we are Jewish for everything we are, not the things we are not.
People with only one Jewish parent are growing more likely to retain their connection to Judaism.
If anything, I am a rare success in modern Jewish life
Christmas is everywhere. For a large chunk of the year, you can’t spend five minutes in public without seeing a horrendously bedazzled fifteen-foot pine tree or hearing “Merry Christmas” from a well-meaning shop assistant. It can feel somewhat suffocating for non-Christians to simply exist in public spaces for most of November and December.
Whilst I am opposed to the hegemonic presence Christmas occupies in British culture, I do have a soft spot for the music. This probably stems from nostalgia, as my (theoretically) secular state school in a largely Christian area carried out an annual carol concert in a local church, as well as a “Christmas Showcase” which involved song, dance, and comedy– all somehow related to Jesus, Santa, or Frosty the Snowman. This music is so ingrained in my memories of childhood that I (a religious Jew) can still sing the harmony part of “O Come All Ye Faithful”.
Many of the songs which dominate our radio stations and shops are not carols and hymns, but seasonal 20th century jazz standards, middle-aged pop songs, and occasional showtunes to which sleigh bells have been added (think “My Favourite Things”). Many of these are incredibly catchy and, luckily for us, tend not to focus on Jesus and his birth, although “Mary’s Boy Child” does buck this trend.
In fact, there are many songs in the canon which don’t mention Christmas at all. This seems strange (imagine a Purim song which doesn’t mention Purim, Esther, or Hamantaschen!), but I suppose there’s only so many songs to be written about Jesus and Santa. Examples of “secular” Christmas songs include “Let It Snow”, “Baby It’s Cold Outside”, “Home for the Holidays”, “A Marshmallow World”, “Winter Wonderland”, and “Sleigh Ride” (if sleigh bells can be classified as secular). Apart from “Home for the Holidays”, all of these songs focus on winter and snow, which does make sense. I’m sure if we had as many Pesach songs
as there are Christmas songs, many of them would focus on spring and blooming, not Moses and the Exodus. By this point, you may be wondering what this article is doing in a Jewish publication. The reason is that, crucially, all of these songs (and many more which do mention Christmas) were written by Jews. Some, like “Winter Wonderland”, were co-written with a Christian. Others, like “Let It Snow”, have an authorship as Jewish as the Talmud. It’s not particularly surprising that many 20th century Christmas songs were written by Jews given our historical prominence in the American entertainment industry, but it does shock many Christians when they first learn of it. But perhaps these songs aren’t Christmas songs at all. Can we reclaim them as secular winter bangers? Or even Chanukah songs? Whilst I don’t truly believe “Winter Wonderland” is a Chanukah song, the idea of a winter song doesn’t seem impossible. After all, why would “Let It Snow”, a song written by two Jews about cold weather, be linked to Christmas?
In New Zealand, it’s played for Matariki, the Māori New Year in June or July. In a way it feels like Christians have stolen our nice Jewish songs about the weather, and redefining them as secular could be considered some kind of divine justice. Ultimately, however, this has its limits. Whilst everything I have said is true, the idea of redefining Christmas songs misses the big picture; millions of unsuspecting gentiles listen to these songs every year, and to them, all of these songs are about Christmas. In the UK and USA, Christmas has expanded so far beyond
Jesus and the nativity, having basically become a festival of winter, lights, trees, food, shopping, gifts, and of course, music. Mistletoe, baubles, and “Winter Wonderland” don’t stop being Christmassy because Jesus isn’t there. And for all this talk of reclamation, I would be mortally embarrassed to play “Baby It’s Cold Outside” at a Jewish wedding in December or January. Even if it doesn’t mention Santa, everyone present will hear it and think of Christmas trees and candy canes. This is a story of assimilation. In a perfect world, Irving Berlin would’ve written “I’m Dreaming of a Bright Chanukah”, but that wouldn’t have gotten past the record labels and film studios. Jewish songwriters steered clear of highlighting their identity, and even songs which didn’t explicitly mention Christmas still fit into a theme: jazz standard with added sleigh bells about some feature of winter, probably on an album with Silent Night. The only true claimant to “non-Christmas banger” is “Home for the Holidays”. Written by Robert Allen and Al Stillman (both Jewish), the lyrics can be summarised by “Oh, how wonderful it is to be at home for a (religious) holiday”, although it doesn’t name any specific holidays. Despite being popularised as a Christmas song, I’m sure that Allen and Stillman were thinking fondly of seders, simchas, and shpiels when they wrote it.
This is a story of assimilation.
Over the New Year, I finally got round to doing something I’d long wanted to do: revisit my maternal grandmother’s ancestral city of Fes, in Morocco. While my trip also involved a broader exploration of the city, my focus here will be on its familial and Jewish dimension; the most important aspects of my visit.
Only 75 years ago, Fes’ Jewish population was at its peak, counting over 20,000 inhabitants. As Zionism made its way into the collective consciousness of the community while antisemitism rose and France ended its colonial rule, this number would rapidly dwindle during the 1950s and 1960s, with major Moroccan-Jewish migrations to France, French-speaking Canada (Quebec) and Israel.
Among those Jews from Fes who ultimately immigrated to France was my grandma. Like many Fessi Jews born in the 1930s, she grew up in a middle-class neighbourhood of what was the French colonial district at the time, still known today as “Ville Nouvelle”, or New Town. Over preceding decades, many Fessi Jews had moved out of the more impoverished traditional Jewish quarter, known as the “mellah” (loosely the Moroccan equivalent of European ghettos), into Ville Nouvelle. These mainly ended up migrating to French-speaking countries (France and Canada), while the poorer Jews that had remained in the mellah mainly moved to Israel.
In contrast to their Muslim counterparts, the socioeconomic ascen-
sion of some Fessi Jews into Ville Nouvelle was partly facilitated by the greater cultural and economic ties Moroccan Jews had to Europe (enhanced by the post-Inquisition influx of Iberian Jews 500 years prior and broader intra-Jewish diaspora ties), as well as their relatively good French-speaking proficiency. The latter is largely creditable to the establishment of Alliance Israélite Universelle (AIU) schools set up by French Jewish educators and philanthropists since the 1860s. Determined to piece together my own family story within the broader context of Fessi and Moroccan Jewry, the first task I gave myself during my short trip was to find my grandma’s old childhood homes, using two street addresses she had given me. Unsurprisingly however, Ville Nouvelle had changed a lot since the 1950s. With post-colonial depopulation of my grandma’s old neighbourhood and subsequent pressures of urbanisation, the “beautiful villas with orange groves” my grandma had described to me, as I discovered, had long since been replaced by apartment blocks. Next on the familial agenda was retracing my ancestry going further back in time. This involved visiting the mellah where my ancestors likely once lived prior to moving into Ville Nouvelle, before visiting the “Cimetière Israélite” just adjacent to it, Fes’ stunningly large Jewish cemetery. Touring the crumbling mellah, now without Jews and much of it depopulated or in disrepair, set the stage for the sprawling cemetery I subsequently wandered around in; a moving symbol of everything that used to be. Prior to visiting, my grandma had given me two family names to look for. One of them was Joseph Devico (one of my great-great-grandfathers), who I had been told by my family was one of Fes’ best known spices sellers back in his day. Nonetheless to my surprise, the otherwise niche “Devico” name turned out to be among the most prominent and high-
ly esteemed surnames in the cemetery. The surname of the other family name my grandma had told me about, Elie Attias (one of my great-grandfathers), had a more common and less prominent status there, though it goes without saying that finding the tombs of my ancestors from either side of that part of the family felt just as moving and significant. Beyond immediate family retracing, I cannot end this article without mentioning the experiences I had with ordinary Moroccans during my brief visit. Without even mentioning the fact I was Jewish, so many people I came across in Fes would mention, often with a mixed sense of pride and nostalgia, the history of the Jewish community. When I not only mentioned I was Jewish but also brought up my grandma’s Fessi origins, so many of their faces would brighten up in a way I’d never quite seen from any stranger before. While it would be a disservice to historical memory to ignore the legacy of antisemitism in Morocco (I also found out one of the Devicos buried in the Fes Jewish cemetery had been killed in a pogrom in 1912), it is certainly fair to say that most Moroccan Jews alive today have generally fond memories of their ancestral land, my grandma among them. After this trip, I can gladly state the same is true of many of today’s Moroccans towards their old Jewish neighbours and their descendants, and can leave full of hope that the future between Moroccans and Jews appears bright as ever.
Many people I came across in Fes would mention the history of the Jewish community
I grew up in a place I like to jokingly call “the edge of somewhere”, close enough that we went into Oxford every Sunday for Cheder for as long as I can remember, but far away enough that that took an hour plus when the traffic was bad. I had a bat mitzvah, and took matzah sandwiches to school, and when I was ten, my school class came and sat in our sukkah. Although I wouldn’t say I ever really believed in God, I drifted away from the community as I got older and my disability got worse. Orchestra was on Saturday mornings, I aged out of Cheder, and then pain and fatigue made it difficult to keep up as a helper and at Kaytana (the summer camp). In the end, I chose to prioritise playing viola. It might surprise you when I describe myself as a Jewish atheist. It took a long time for me to be comfortable with that as a concept but Judaism can get a bit difficult when you don’t do food or God too well, and going away to university in a city where I knew a grand total of one other Jew didn’t exactly help. The strongest spiritual belief I have is probably the idea of spirits of animals sticking around to help baby animals figure out life - this comes from a book by Judith Kerr called Goodbye Mog, in case you wanted to know. From an atheist perspective, of course, it is possible to celebrate a lot of the Jewish holidays without believing in God. Many customs and celebrations are rooted in gratitude and respect for each other, the world and our history. One
thing I’ve found interesting is the interpretation of the second son at Passover. He asks “What does it mean to you?”, and this is taken to be rude, that he does not want to be included in the celebration. When I looked into it, another translation offered for him was alienated. Perhaps he wants to know why his parents continue this tradition for themselves and their family, in order to find meaning in it for himself. It is often far easier to answer harshly to a person who is unsure, although I would propose that a simple answer might be that it is a time for the whole family to gather and to recognise and celebrate the freedoms we have today. Disability complicates things a lot, especially as I have struggled to find any opinions on disability within Judaism. If I were not disabled, I might come down south more regularly to celebrate with my family and the community in Oxford, but travelling is difficult and very energy-consuming for me. The additional cost of buying gluten-free matzah feels wasteful when it tastes awful and I don’t tend to eat lots of bread anyway. It’s hard to justify taking a week out of university to go home for one day for Yom Kippur when I can’t fast and I don’t feel comfortable going to synagogue (although the synagogue in Oxford is multi-denominational, High Holy Days are broadly Orthodox). This has led me to have to try harder to find meaning in our traditions and adapt the way I celebrate; for example, making time to eat honey
cake with my family over a video call instead of travelling and going to synagogue. I fell back into klezmer music out of pure luck. I was looking on the Manchester Jewish Museum website to find the accessibility information and I found they have a klezmer tune club once a month or so. We had klezmer music at Cheder for a term when I was around fourteen, and I have strong memories of dancing at friends’ bat and bar mitzvahs, so I thought I’d give it a go. The tune club led to me going on a residential course to learn more with klezmer violinist, Ilana Cravitz, and I came back keen to integrate it into my playing. What I like about klezmer is its versatility. Although a lot of the melodies are written with a violin or clarinet in mind, it’s perfectly possible to play them on a viola or adapt them to fit better. Heterophony, or texture created by multiple versions of the same tune being played at the same time, is a large part of klezmer music, and there is a general opinion that there are no ‘wrong’ notes in klezmer. It creates a social environment that is inherently Jewish without being based out of a place of worship or a specific branch of Judaism (other than Ashkenazi/Sephardi), and where personalisation and adaptation are not only accepted but almost demanded, making it more accessible for Jews who, like me, aren’t really sure where they fit within religion.
Sometime in mid-September of last year, the word of the day on my little dictionary app was “serendipity.” Still recovering from what was proving to be an incredibly persistent jet lag, I slept through my first lecture, making my way across the University College Cork (UCC) campus to the library later than usual that day. In another flap of the butterfly’s wings, I ran into a friend whom I hadn’t seen since the previous semester ended, so I took a different path across campus, giving us a chance to catch up and make plans for the weekend. As we parted ways, I turned around and found myself face to face with a table tucked into a nook outside the library, a small banner proclaiming them to be the Jewish Student Society.
I arrived in Ireland for what was originally supposed to be a study abroad semester in early January of 2022, but I found myself falling in love with the city to such an extent that soon after I began the process of transferring to be a student in Cork full time. I knew I had made the right choice, still a year later not regretting it for a second, but regardless I found myself laying in my room night after night the following semester, my first as a full time student at UCC, slowly but surely realizing despite having peers and friends, I lacked any community to fall back on.
Then, serendipity. I rushed to the JSoc booth, probably startling our poor founder and, ever artful with words, simply pointed at myself, proclaiming
“I’m Jewish, too!” At the time, the table was staffed by our current president and leading founder of the society, Ianna Rosa Román, as well as committee member and co-founder, Abbie Hackett. We spent some time introducing ourselves, all three of us absolutely giddy at the prospect of the now growing community of young Jewish people in Cork city.
The first event I was able to attend was our Sukkot celebration, where I as well as about 30 other students turned out despite the biting cold to make décor for our impromptu sukkah, get to know each other, and schmooze. From here, the structure of the society slowly but surely came together. More importantly, the community started to take shape.
“You cannot really be Jewish in isolation,” explains committee member Shoshana Groom, “Judaism is built through community, and the JSoc has been that community for me.” Similar sentiments were echoed by other members over the array of events organized over the past semester - with even more being planned for this semester, including a neighbourhood clean-up, various fundraisers and food drives, and attendance at the UJS Convention in February. These events have become a staple of student’s lives. Weekly Shabbat din-
ners, regular events, and deep friendships have been found in JSoc, with everyone always looking forward to spending our Friday nights together. “People don’t really realise we have a Jewish community in Ireland at all,” says Ianna. “It’s been really exciting to open people’s eyes and introduce them to our culture.” Reflective of that desire to educate and spread our culture, our events are open to the whole student body and consistently draw in non-Jewish students as well, always eager to learn. Wanting a strong Jewish base to be the foundation of the society, Ianna says their first impasse was to find the Jewish community both on campus and in Cork as a whole. Getting in touch with the Cork Jewish Community was only the start to founding our society, spending time at stalls and reaching out to other students who might be interested became a full-time job. This work, however, proved to be fruitful and drew in dozens of interested members. The weight of this accomplishment is not lost on anyone in the community, with each member taking time to rave about Ianna and their work when asked about the importance of society to them. As Ianna put it, “we have made such a bustling little community all on our own,” and anyone who takes the time to look in would see the passion and pride each member brings, all of us gladly carrying the torch of being the founders of the UCC Jewish Student Society and the young people of Cork’s Jewish community.
Despite having peers and friends, I lacked any community.
We have made such a bustling little community, all on our own.
You’ve probably heard the phrase ‘Judeo-Christian values’ thrown about in academic texts, the media and elsewhere, including in Jewish circles, but have you ever thought about it? What are Judeo-Christian values? If the term refers to the Abrahamic faiths, why is Islam left out? Given the violent history of Jewish-Christian relations, what could the origin of the term be?
These questions get to the core of a complex history, mixed up in all sorts of prejudice, and reveal that the descriptor is both illogical and inappropriate. To show why, I’ll explore this history and the associations of the phrase with both antisemitism and Islamophobia, and then explain why it doesn’t make sense in the first place
The term first gained currency in the lead up to WWII and was used by Jews to convey to the US government that fascism opposed the values the US was founded on in an attempt to bring the US into the war. As the war ended, it was used by President Truman, but this time it took on a new meaning: US values of democracy, in opposition to Soviet communism. And it was at this point that the term began to take on a new meaning: so-called ‘Western’ values, principally in the sense of Christian values.
This begins to make clear where the first problem lies: the term no longer refers to shared values and is today used principally by right-wing Christians to refer to their own values. These are often framed in terms of opposition to LGBTQ+ rights, abortion rights, and more.
Unfortunately, the history of the term only gets worse. After 9/11, there was a further twist. Conveniently, for the type of politicians who had grown used to using the term ‘Judeo-Christian’, Islam had already been implicitly excluded from the term. Now, as they began to justify their ‘War on Terror’, they frequently did so in terms of an ideological opposition between Islam and ‘the West’. Luckily (for these politicians), there was already a term hanging around that furthered this narrative: ‘Judeo-Christian’. So today, it is
still used by the right-wing to imply a perceived threat from Islam against the West. The term has generally been used to mean Christian values and as a coded reference to Islamophobia. But, as you’d expect, the term also has some pretty strong antisemitic notes. An important and traditional part of Christian theology is supersessionism: the idea that Judaism is imperfect in various ways and that it needs Jesus in order to fix it. This idea is offensive: it declares that we are not just wrong, but broken and idiotic. Unsurprisingly, then, it has a long and painful history in justifying 2000 years of Christian persecution. While antisemitism has morphed and changed over time from the primarily religious to the primarily secular, supersessionism remains dangerous. The term ‘Judeo-Christian’ is wrapped up in this idea – by combining the two religions together, it implies that the two go together, the latter replacing the former. The term itself is also complicit in concealing the pain that this has caused: two thousand years of persecution, starting with Emperor Constantine and continuing to the Holocaust and today. By implying ‘Judeo’ and ‘Christian’ go together, the term glosses over the history of violence and ignores that which cannot be forgotten. So it’s pretty clear that the term itself carries a multitude of problems. But, in my view, what really matters is that the term is just plain wrong – it makes no sense, simply because Judaism and Christianity are so divergent. A prime example of this aris-
es from our different ideas of ‘sin’ and ‘repentance’. Christian conceptions of sin typically have their basis in the idea of ‘original sin’, an idea derived from Paul that only Jesus could save humans from their sinful nature. In contrast, Judaism says that while we may be inclined towards doing some bad, we also do good; what matters is that we seek to do better. In the Jewish sense, ‘repentance’ is a process of reconciliation between yourself and those you have transgressed against, repairing the damage you did and the relationship you harmed. On a deeper level, we have very different ideas about why one shouldn’t sin in the first place. In Judaism, the most important reason to follow the mitzvot is because it is the right thing to do: God gave us the mitzvot, in the form of the covenant, as a blessing to make both the world and our lives better. Whereas, in Christianity, the focus is on faith as a means to divine ‘grace’ and acceptance into heaven. Judaism doesn’t pay much attention to eschatology (theology about the end of the world and the afterlife) because it is much more grounded in the here-and-now, with greater concern paid to how we behave today.
There are many more differences, including Christian universalism, emphasis on converting others, and focus on removing rather than valuing internal dissent, and, most obviously, our vastly different beliefs about the messiah.
So, it’s pretty clear that not only is the term ‘Judeo-Christian values’ associated with the political beliefs largely of right-wing American Christians, and consequently with Islamophobia and antisemitism, but it also makes no sense. For me, somehow, this last part is the worst bit. The claimed shared values simply don’t really exist. Asserting the existence ‘Judeo-Christian values’ is not only dangerous, but wrong. I urge you, please, to stop using it.
The claimed shared values simply don’t really exist.
“What you are doing is […] dancing on the graves of people who are no longer alive to defend themselves. I think it’s inadmissible myself.”
These were the words of the late Rabbi Hugo Gryn as he argued on television over the debut of a new play about the Holocaust, called Perdition. Gryn, an Auschwitz survivor, found himself having to defend his community against the charge that Jews were Nazi collaborators who were complicit in their own genocide.
The Royal Court Theatre found itself embroiled in controversy for its decision to stage the play, which has been described as ‘deplorable’, ‘a Stalinist lie’, ‘a complete travesty of the facts’ and ‘deeply antisemitic’. With just forty-eight hours to go before the premier, the Theatre axed the show, and despite frantic attempts to secure a new venue, nowhere else in the country would host them. But how did such a twisted and antisemitic reading of history nearly make its way
Written by the late Jim Allen and directed by Ken Loach, the play attempts a fictionalised retelling of the libel trial of Rudolf Kastner. Kastner had played a leading role in the Budapest Aid and Rescue Committee, a Jewish organisation which sought to save Hungarian Jews from the advancing Nazi forces in 1944. Faced with the impending annihilation of Hungarian Jewry, Kastner desperately attempted to plead with Nazis in Budapest to allow him to save as many Jews as possible; an offer they accepted in exchange for the ex-
propriation of Jewish possessions. Yet the Nazis’ offer was a ruse and after allowing 1,684 Jews to escape, they swiftly deported half a million Jews to their deaths in Auschwitz, accounting for over two thirds of Hungary’s entire Jewish population. Having survived the Holocaust, Kastner moved to Israel where, in 1953, he sued the author of a leaflet which portrayed him as a Nazi collaborator. In the first hearing, the judges ruled in favour of his accuser before the entire decision was overturned in 1958 by the Israeli Supreme Court, exonerating Kastner. Kastner himself never lived to see his name cleared; he was assassinated by a right-wing extremist less than a year before the final ruling. The tale of Kastner is complex and painful. It is difficult, perhaps im-
possible, to truly imagine ourselves in such a situation. Unimaginable hardship. Impossible choices. Or at least, that would be my reaction. The same cannot be said for Loach and Allen. Perdition instead sought to invert the moral lesson of the Holocaust, using it as a stick with which to beat the very Jews who had been murdered under it. Heavily distorting the facts of the case, Allen bizarrely used the Kastner trial as a polemic against Zionism, arguing that Zionist leaders like Kastner had intentionally sent their fellow Jews to the slaughter because it would later help them establish the State of Israel. To be clear, for all the play’s purported “criticism of Zionism”, the play was squarely targeted at Jews. This much is clear from the many, shocking
lines from the script, including “[Hungarian Jews] were murdered not just by the force of German arms, but by the calculated treachery of their own Jewish leaders”. Yet, it was clear from the pre-production stage that the play’s judgements on Hungarian Jewish leaders were built on a bed of inaccuracies and untruths. The eminent Holocaust historians David Cesarani and Sir Martin Gilbert reviewed the script, with the latter historian concluding that it contained over 60 historical falsehoods, including “inaccuracies on
almost every page of the script”. Neither the historians nor the Israeli Supreme Court found any evidence to support the contention that Kastner or other Jewish Zionist leaders had intentionally enabled the Nazis, let alone as part of any “Zionist plan”. This begs the question of why Allen and Loach, who had no academic training in Holocaust history, were so determined to push ahead with the play in the face of major concerns from academics and the British Jewish community. The answer is perhaps straight-
forward, for Allen gives it himself. Writing about Perdition, Allen characterised it as “the most lethal attack on Zionism ever written, because it touches at the most abiding myth of modern history, the Holocaust”. In his eyes, the Holocaust “myth” was that Jews had been exterminated by the Nazis, when in fact, he believed that “Jewish leaders collaborated in the extermination of their own kind” and wrote the play to “prove” his point. In other words, Perdition was pure Holocaust revisionism. To a reasonable person, it would then be clear why so many Jews and historians were so disgusted by the play. Not so for Loach. Rather than engaging with the very real criticisms of the play, he simply regarded the play’s cancellation as evidence of the “strength and power of the [Zionist] lobby”. Never mind the fact that the Royal Court’s own director stated that he cancelled the play because he believed that “going ahead would cause great distress to members of the community”. Perhaps the scent of conspiracy was too appetising. As the play’s director, Loach staunchly promoted it for years to come. In a letter to The Guardian defending the play in 2004, his main reflection was that “the charge of antisemitism is a time-honoured way to deflect anti-Zionist arguments”. It takes a certain kind of person to view Holocaust revisionism as mere anti-Zionism. Perhaps then, it is not surprising that when, at Labour Party Conference in 2017, Loach was asked if it is acceptable to question whether the Holocaust happened, he simply responded by saying that “history is there for all to discuss”. Perhaps it is even less surprising that Loach himself was expelled from the Labour Party in 2021 after continuing to support other members who had been expelled for antisemitism. But we must remember to not lose sight of the core of these events; the Jews themselves who were affected by it. After sitting through twenty-five minutes of Jim Allen arguing for Perdition’s Holocaust revisionism, Rabbi Gryn was asked to give the last word on the television programme, as a Hungarian survivor himself. He said, “A desperate situation, desperate men, doing whatever they could to try and save people and failed. And there is no reason to rejoice over that.” As true now as it was in 1987, that really should be the last word on this appalling episode.
Having fallen back in love with learning on his year abroad, Toby Kunin considers the lessons that the Jewish community can draw from the museums of Paris.
Over the last year I have rediscovered my love of learning. After ten years of standardized testing I thought that it was gone forever, just some naive childhood flirtation with the world around me. How wrong I was! All it took was moving to Paris… Much of this joy came from within the classroom - it’s amazing how interesting lectures can be when you have free reign over what you study, and no threat of failure. For the first time ever, I was given the opportunity to engage with my identity, my Jewishness, in an academic way. I was able to do this directly, through a Jewish History class, but also indirectly through courses on Zionism, Middle Eastern Cinema, Post-Socialist Eastern Europe, Migration in France and on and on. My interests and my work collided. I rambled at length about Al-Andalus and Babi Yar, Yael Bartana and Han-
nah Arendt in somewhat erratic essays. But my most significant learning happened beyond the classroom, in some of Paris’ numerous museums. A few of these exhibitions particularly stood out to me.
Growing up between North Leeds and Noam camp, the Jewishness I knew was almost exclusively Ashkenazi. When Jews from beyond Europe were mentioned it was normally either as a footnote, or as some kind of ‘gotcha’ card in debates around Israel. But here I was, in a museum dedicated to the Arab world, seeing Jewish life from across the Middle East
and North Africa explored on its own terms and for its own sake. The exhibition traced the history back over two thousand years, with stone carvings followed by Geniza fragments followed by Ottoman posters followed by dresses and chanukiot. The exhibition explored the complex interaction between Jews and their neighbors in the region, neither perfect coexistence, nor eternal subjugation. You
Growing up, the Jewishness I knew was almost exclusively Ashkenazi
can watch in real time how the forces of modern history, especially colonialism and nationalism, pushed communities apart. The exhibition rounds off with the double tragedy for many of these Jewish communities, first of mass displacements and then for most an unwelcome arrival in Israel. A video tells the story of a family dressed up in their Shabbos best, ready for their journey to the Holy Land, only to be greeted with delousing spray and a tent.
The natural follow up came in another exhibition, this time at the National Immigration Museum. The exhibition tracked the histories of Jews and Muslims living under French colonial rule, their journeys to France and their reception. My ever patient Muslim flatmate accompanied me here too, and we traded comments about our co-religionists’ changing fates - the favoring of Jews over Muslims under the Crémieux Decree, the swift reversal of fates under Vichy statutes (which persisted months after liberation) and the collective failure of the French State to-
wards all new arrivals in the postwar years. Thinking about these exhibitions, a quote from Isaac Deutscher lingers in my head, as he laments his prior “confidence in European society and civilisation, which that society and civilisation [had] not justified.”.
Two other exhibitions really cemented that for me: ‘Paris pour École, 1905-1940’ at the Musée d’art et d’histoire du Judaïsme, and ‘Lettres à Camondo’ at the Musée Nissim de Camondo. The two were very different in content - one contemporary ceramics in a Louis XVI style manor, the other paintings and drawings by Chagall, Soutine, and Modigliani among others - but shared this same narrative arc. They show Jews arriving in France, falling in love with it, and ultimately being betrayed. Many of the lives within both stories end in Auschwitz, via Drancy.
Paris pour École explored the incredible contribution made by emigre artists, largely Jews, to modern art in Paris. Centered around a repurposed wine cellar built by Gustave Eiffel (really!), some of the most exciting work of the earlier Twentieth Century emanated from these squalid studios, as well as various Yiddish ‘zines. Far too many of these artists’ plaques ended in 1943 and many of their stories and work remain lost - the exhibition ended with a poem by Chagall - ‘To the martyred artists’. ‘Lettres à Camondo’ told a very different story, of the heir to an Ottoman Jewish banking family, infatuated with French patrimony, who donates his collection to the state after his son’s death fighting for France in the First World War. His loyalty is repaid with the deportation of all his surviving descendents. However intoxicating nationalism and imperialism can be, history suggests that they have never been kind to Jews in the long run. This is not to say we must live our lives in a state of constant dread, but a reminder that we can do better. As Israel’s new government embraces the global nationalist right and moves closer to a system of colonial domination of the Occupied Territories, I hope that these lessons from France might serve as a cautionary tale.
History suggests that nationalism and imperialism have never been kind to Jews
Eishet chayil (Woman of Valour) is a biblical passage often read on Friday evening. At first glance, the words seem to conflict with contemporary values of equality and self-determination. Charlotte Elisheva Fonrobert, professor in the Religious Studies department of Stanford University, explains that when approaching a problematic text such as this one, there are two classic approaches. The polemic approach is to disregard the text completely, refusing to engage with a piece of writing that describes the ideal woman as simply a housewife, taking care of her family. The apologists, however, are always on the side of the eishet chayil, ready to justify anything and often critical of us, the reader, using our skewed “modern lens” to look at the passage.
Agreeing with Charlotte that neither of these approaches are helpful to those of us who want to actively engage with our textual heritage, and work through the difficulties, we are attempting to start afresh and look at Eishet Chayil for what it is – an objectionable passage with a beautiful sentiment, which each one of us, as modern commentators, have the right to argue with and learn from.
Eishet chayil, the woman of valour, has many qualities. She gives to the poor, gets up early to prepare breakfast for her family, as well as making clothing and fabrics to sell. This description of the life of a busy woman, 3000 years ago, beautifully uncovers the invisible labour women
did, and continue to do, and allows those around the table a chance to stop and appreciate the female force. Whilst being an economic powerhouse is not the first thing that comes to mind when we think of biblical women, the eishet chayil is just that. As a woman, she has agency. She is not passive, but a doer, with control over her own destiny. She takes risks and responsibilities, with the knowledge that she always has the backing of her partner. The trust between the couple is explicit and strong, allowing the woman to see projects through from start to finish without needing permission from her husband. Seen this way, Eishet Chayil is a powerful tale of female strength and responsibility, even in a male-dominated society. Having said that, the problematic nature of the text cannot be ignored. Whilst the woman is taking on this enormous domestic burden, the man’s responsibility is to stand up, and sing her praises every Friday night. Is the eishet chayil passage a beautiful acknowledgement of the women’s work throughout the week, or are these words empty, a male excuse to not step up and offer practical help to one’s partner? It is also true that in today’s world, an increasing number of families do not fit the traditional heterosexual model that we see depicted in Eishet Chayil, and people in same-sex or single parent families may not naturally see themselves reflected in this passage. It also appears to essentialise the traditionally male and female roles, where many couples today choose different divisions of labour. These are problems that as modern Jews, we finally have the space to explore and question, without our core beliefs, faith and communal involvement put at risk. A question often posed is why Eishet Chayil is sung on Friday night specifically - one of the first things we do to welcome Shabbat. These day-to-day, often
mundane activities described in the text are also forbidden on Shabbat itself, so why do we recall them on Friday night? Often, our Jewish experiences revolve around Shabbat, festivals, and communal activities. The chasm between the holy and the ordinary is felt stronger now than ever before. Through Eishet Chayil, we come to understand that even cooking, going shopping, and doing chores should be infused with Judaism, each act becoming holy in its own right. Seen through this lens, Eishet Chayil is an emotive celebration of getting through another week, having completed so many tasks, now allowing ourselves the luxury to rest and relax on Shabbat. Eishet Chayil is an opportunity to take time on Friday night to look back on our accomplishments, and praise ourselves and others for even the smaller things. As students, it is easy to feel as though the days slip away, to feel stuck in monotony, and to lose track of the small things we do every day – attending that morning lecture, making a start on that essay, getting through that sink-full of washing up, or even just changing out of your pyjamas in the morning. But Eishet Chayil can remind us that those everyday tasks are infused with holiness, and even when they feel invisible, they are praiseworthy and something to be proud of. Whilst there are differing views about how much of Eishet Chayil to say on Friday night, if at all, looking at our source texts through an inquisitive and open lens is never a wasted exercise. We invite you to tackle the difficult pieces of our faith with the appreciation that the space exists in which to do so. As the eishet chayil “opens her mouth with wisdom, and a lesson of kindness is on her tongue,” so too should we critically engage with the foundations of our faith with wisdom, and speak kindly about those often sidelined in our ancient narrative.
Eishet chayil is an objectionable passage with a beautiful sentiment
Student football teams Maccabi Selly Oak and Hapoel Hyde Park held a rematch on the 27th November 2022, following last year’s successful charity match in aid of World Jewish Relief’s Ukraine appeal.
The rematch this year was in aid of Shalva - a charity empowering people with disabilities, and their families. Team spirits were high, having successfully raised over £3,000 for the charity Shalva before the start of the match.
Despite the success building up to the event, the match was a tough result for Hapoel following a hard-fought game against Birmingham’s Maccabi Selly Oak after sadly losing on penalties.
It had been an incredible achievement raising money for Shalva, and helping to launch the Year of Student Sport project, but the game itself was an unfortunate result for Hyde Park, especially considering the progress the team has tallied up - with 25 goals in six games this season, compared to 22 in the whole of the previous campaign.
The game began after a minute’s worth of applause in memory of Josh Carr, the former Leeds student and co-founder of Hapoel Hyde Park.
Despite strong defensive work from club captain Sam Clarfield and Sam Baker at the back, a first attempt on tar-
get from Selly Oak was sent over the bar. Some minutes later, a clash in the midfield led to Joe Salomon receiving Hapoel’s first booking of the match. Following the challenge, the home team managed to take control of the game and shortly scored a goal which was ruled out for offside. The disallowed goal gave Hapoel a wake-up call, as the team’s familiar intensity was kicked back into life. After a booking for Joel Herman, Ben Gur managed to open the scoring for the day after a great assist from strike partner Joel Walters, giving Hapoel the lead going into the break.
The aggression of the first half didn’t stop there, as Dylan Saunders was brought on at the end of the half, only to then have his nose broken in a brutal challenge, meaning he was forced to come back off for the rest of the game. After being ahead at half-time, Hapoel managed to continue their momentum as they created a chance at the beginning of the second half, with Joel
Walters unfortunately sending a shot wide after a cross from Daniel Bowman. The home team quickly found a response then persisted in trying to break down the Hapoel defence, but were kept out by some heroics from Hapoel legend Ethan Isaacs and some fantastic defensive work from Baker and Clarfield. A very controversial decision made by the referee confused both sides, originally allowing Ben Gur’s second goal to stand after going around the keeper only to then rule it out for offside. The aggression from both sides continued as a penalty was given away by Hapoel. After an incredible save by Isaacs denying Selly Oak from the spot, he then followed by making another incredible save, keeping the visitors in the game. However, with just five minutes left on the clock, Maccabi Selly Oak broke down the Hapoel defence and equalised with a rebound, sending the game straight to penalties. It had been a heroic performance from both sides, but sadly it was former Leeds man Elliot Bloom whose decisive final penalty meant that Maccabi Selly Oak emerged victorious, edging out Hapoel by just one penalty.
Spirits were high having raised over £3000 for Shalva
Until the beginning of the 22/23 university year, there was a lack of Jewish representation in university sports leagues. However, through the Year of Student Sport project, UJS and Maccabi GB have been brought together as collaborators with the aim of giving as many Jewish students access to Jewish sport.
In memory of Joshua Freddie Carr, The Year of Student Sport has set out to support existing teams and promote the foundation of new ones by providing free sports kit and paying university league fees.
The Year of Student Sport now supports 8 different JSoc sports teams across the country, empowering these students to create close friend groups, put on events and lay foundations that future students can enjoy!
Birmingham JSoc Football – Maccabi
Selly Oak
Sam Ucko
“In Birmingham, Maccabi Selly Oak has gone from strength to strength this season. For the men’s team, we managed to win our league on the final day of the season to gain promotion, and we also beat our arch-rivals Hapoel Hyde Park in a game which raised money for charity.
For our women’s team, we have taken our first steps in making university football more inclusive
for everyone, regardless of gender. We have held training sessions and are currently in the process of organising matches against other women’s teams. Off the pitch, the connection and unity in both men’s and women’s teams is unrivalled. There is a real sense of community and players are proud to display the Maccabi Selly Oak logo on their tracksuits around campus. We can’t wait for next term where without doubt, we will continue to grow even more!”
@brumjsoc
@maccabi_selly_oak
Jenna Morris
“Being on the committee for JSoc this year there were discussions about whether to continue the JSoc netball team and I am so glad that with the proposal of the Year of Student Sport we went ahead with it. Without a doubt, the netball team has been a massive highlight in the year so far. Every Wednesday the team gets together to play another university team and the spirits are so high, everyone leaves the match with a smile on their face.
I have been able to see the amazing passion for netball that a lot of the team have been able to rediscover, but also it has been so special to see year
groups integrating and forming an amazing bond. Every player brings something unique to the team and I am so grateful that netball has allowed us to meet. I am beyond proud of the Nottingham JSoc Team and what we have achieved so far (even though it’s just the start). We have placed second in the league and have won almost all our matches so far. It is an amazing group of people and I am so lucky to be part of it. I can’t wait to start playing other unis and letting the other JSocs know that we are really part of something exceptional.”
@notts_jsoc
“St Andrews was a footballing pickle for our JSoc to tackle. The extremely competitive Sunday League with extortionate fees was no place for the casuals of St Andrews JSoc FC to inhabit. In search of shelter, we worked with the University Chaplaincy and Sports Director to create
our own league: The Interfaith Football League.
Eight teams and a dozen matches later we were playing biweekly fixtures against Catholic, Hindu and other societies whilst forming friendships along the way. The donation bucket we bring to every fixture has also become heavier as we raised £500 to charity. UJS has been a fantastic source of help along the way. A special thank you is due to Jodie Franks, Grace Silverstein and Arieh Miller, who’ve helped us with new kits for 2023 as well as with the final of our league on April 15th, which we can’t wait for. This final is our biggest source of excitement, with it being a community event ticketed at £5 held at the local football club. Proceeds are enabling disadvantaged children in the area to play football. With bands and food-trucks planned and a specially negotiated reduction to £3 pints, we’re sure it’s going to be a rocking party that all other JSoc football teams in Scotland are invited to enter!”
@standrewsjsoc
We will work to support any teams that wish to follow in the steps of Leeds and Birmingham JSocs and play across universities; facilitating this and bringing students together in this way is central to the initiative. The Year of Student Sport is currently centred around football and netball with the project aiming to use these sports as a launch pad for the future of Jewish sport across campuses. As take-up in sports across JSocs grows, the hope is that UJS and Maccabi can begin to incorporate more sports moving forward. So far, the campaign has been hugely successful in expanding the reach of JSocs by helping them cater to a wider demographic of Jewish students. By supplying this sports funding to JSocs, students have been empowered to use sport to make a difference – as showcased by the Birmingham and Leeds students who raised £3,106 for the charity Shalva, and St Andrews students raising £500 for the British Heart Foundation. Most importantly, sport is now an accessible way for Jewish students to form strong bonds and stay involved with the Jewish community on their campus.
Jonah Lazarus
“Hapoel Hyde Park have made incredible progress this season, having already scored more goals by December than in the whole of last year’s campaign. This term, the team were able to finish 4th in their Wednesday social league and secured some incredible results including a hard-fought draw against the league leaders. Hapoel manager Jasper van Veen has said that the team feels more like a family this year, and squad unity has been second to none, with regular club socials after games, such as the Otley Run. We are proud of the team’s ability to bring Jewish students into campus life who may not feel comfortable attending Jewish events on campus. Our media has also taken a step forward this year, conducting regular interviews on matchday and having our match reports published in the local Jewish Telegraph, helping with further publicity for the team and its events. Onwards to next year and Forza Hapoel!”
@leedsjsoc
@hapoelhydepark
Get your JSoc involved!
• Form a team
• Find a league
• Get in contact!
The inspiration behind ‘The Year of Student Sport’ is the late Joshua Freddie Carr; his silhouette has been featured across the logo and branding. Josh was a student in Leeds and involved himself heavily in everything Jewish on campus; he had a drive to create a positive and supportive society for all Jewish students on campus. Josh achieved this by volunteering countless hours, holding a position on the JSoc committee and co-founding the student football team, Hapoel Hyde Park. Josh had an innate ability to bring people together and he used this to create communities. This initiative aims to carry on Josh’s legacy and use sport as a vessel to bring Jewish students together, honouring his drive and passion to improve the Jewish community around him.
A JSoc asks you to run a session for their members at the last minute. Which session do you deliver?
a) A Mizrahi food evening
b) Anything related to Israel - ask me and I’m on my way to you!
c) An Israeli themed pub night with fun Israeli snacks
When you get home after a long day, how do you unwind?
a) Cooking good food and listening to songs from musicals
b) Asking Alexa to play music and turn on the small lights
c) Hanging out with the other Shlichim near me
What’s your favourite restaurant?
a) Sima (in Jerusalem)
b) Hasadna or Hahummus Shel Techina (also in Jerusalem)
c) Amazonico
What was the last thing that you watched?
a) Harry Potter!
b) I just finished watching the White Lotus, and now I understand the obsession
c) Ginny & Gerorgia
What’s your favourite joke?
a) What is Forest Gump’s computer password? 1Forest1
b) Why did the grapes get divorced? Because the wife was sick of raisin kids
c) The British rail system
What is your favourite Shabbat activity?
a) Walking around my neighbourhood
b) Seeing everyone around the dinner table
c) Catching up with my niece and nephew
What’s the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done?
a) Crashed a super posh Scottish New Year’s Eve party
b) My friends call me Lucifer for a reason
c) Got a spontaneous tattoo
What was your most listened to track this month?
a) This Time for Africa - Shakira
b) Hatikva
c) Body Paint - Arctic Monkeys
Mostly c, you’re Noa
Mostly b, you’re Adi
Mostly a, you’re Efrat
If you got:
A “poem about being CEO of UJS” is a bit difficult to write, and 150 words makes the wordcount quite tight. It’s been about 4 years since I was lucky enough to become UJS CEO The absolute best job in the world, just so you know.
I want to focus on the people with the role of Sab. Every day with them is absolutely fab. Their inspiration, energy and dedication is impossible to match. Quite how old they sometimes make me feel is the only catch!
So my role - I do fundraising and long term planning with the team, and create continuity between each presidential regime. I work on community and other partnerships and a sustainable future for the organisation, and make sure when staff or students need it, I have all the information.
So to summarise, my job really differs every day. What’s the best part of it? It’s impossible to say. But working on behalf of you and with all of the Tzevet is a job like no other, the best job I’ve had yet.
What is your best moment so far at UJS?
Jodie: Probably Convention last year, I really loved it and it made me hyped for Convention this year. Big woo!
Faye: This interview
What is your favourite JSoc memory as a student?
Jodie: Helping out on the period poverty campaign where we collected sanitary produces for Bloody Good Period
Faye: Making cakes for a bake sale
Who is your most inspirational Jewish figure?
Jodie: I just read a book about Rav Chisda’s daughter, who was a Talmudic rabbi - I loved learning about her in her own right, and what she had to go through to learn the things she learned and to achieve the things she achieved. But it does change day to day.
Faye: Jodie Franks
If you had to pick a sport, which would you pick?
Jodie: Probably running ... a UJS event.
Faye: Javelin ... no, no, just joking! I don’t want people to think I’m violent! Table football.
What is the best quality in a friend?
Jodie: Trust.
Faye: Caring.
What’s your worst habit?
Jodie: My worst habit that I want to share with others? Hmm ... What do you think my worst habit is? I’m sure you have a list... Probably that I do like to talk to myself in front of other people. And sing to myself.
Faye: I’m perfect!
What quality do you admire the most in others but you don’t have yourself?
Jodie: Proably organisation
Faye: I told you - I’m perfect!
What’s your dream menu for a Friday Night Dinner?
Jodie: Anything that my mum has cooked because she’s a good cook.
Faye: Chicken soup with kneidels and everything. And then chicken and potatoes and everything - but really well done, not just average. And then apple crumble. With custard.
When you’re not working, how do you like to spend your time?
Jodie: I like to see my friends, and do crafts like knitting and embroidery.
Faye: Seeing friends.
What’s your favourite Jewish festival?
Jodie: Yom Kippur, but I worry I’ll be judged!
Faye: I have two. Chanukah because it brings light, and Shavuot because of cheesecake.
Can you say something nice about someone you dislike?
Jodie: I think that Dora is funny.
Faye: I like everyone!
ADI ALEPH ALUMNI ARIEH BAGEL CAMPAIGNS CAMPUS CHALLAH COMMITTEE COMMUNITY
Zachary Bates-Fisher | Sheffield JSoc
Aaron Black | Leeds JSoc
Jodie Franks | UJS Head of Programming
CONFERENCE CONVENTION
DAVID DORA EDWARD EFRAT EMMA ENGAGEMENT FALAFEL FAYE
FRESHER GRACE GUY ISRAEL JEWISH JODIE JOEL JSOC KEDEM LEADERSHIP
Mischa Gerrard | Belfast JSoc
Noah Getz Brzezinski | St Andrews
JSoc
Dora Hirsh | UJS Jewish Enrichment & Engagement and Liberation Officer
Jacob Hougie | Cambridge JSoc
Laura Jones | CSSD JSoc
Toby Kunin | Warwick JSoc
Jonah Lazarus | Leeds JSoc
MOTION NOA OLI PRESIDENT REPRESENTATION SAB SARAH SHLICHA STUDENT UNION
David Legmann | UJS Israel Engagement Officer
Jack Lubner | Cambridge JSoc
Jenna Morris | Nottingham JSoc
Arieh Miller | Leeds JSoc
Joel Rosen | UJS President
Ainsley-Kay Rucker | Cork JSoc
Zach Smerin | Oxford JSoc
Ilana Tapper | Manchester JSoc
Sam Ucko | Birmingham JSoc
