Thoughts on an Antisemitic Question
Recently, I had the privilege of touring Vienna, Austria. It is a magnificent and beautiful city. However, walking its famed streets, what struck me was not the grandeur but its past. Vienna was a city which underwent a massive transformation; it was a city which had done the impossible.
Though the city’s beauty and regal history are undeniable, for Jews the city is infamous for a much darker past. For the Jew touring Vienna, oppression, destruction, evil and hatred flood the streets of the capital of Hitler’s birthplace. The imposing grandiosity of the Neue Burg wing of the Hofburg is accompanied with the imposing imagery of Hitler speaking to a crowd of thousands upon thousands of Viennese citizens in that same spot. The rich history of Vienna is tainted with horrible antisemitism.
However, remarkably, not even a century following that indescribable antisemitism, the streets of the city do not feel saturated with antisemitism. The people there seem to assume responsibility and recognize their soiled past. The modern city even has some of the strictest antisemitism laws, some crimes even punishable with up to two years in prison. I looked around and was baffled by how rapidly the views of the people changed.
I felt myself constantly wondering: how can a city with such rampant disgust of Jews turn into what it is now? How can the city with such a dark past ensure that it never regresses?
I found my answer in the Austrian Parliament.
While in Vienna, I had the privilege to hear from Rifka Junger, an incredible woman who is the Advisor on Combating Antisemitism, Jewish Life and Holocaust Remembrance for the Austrian Parliament.
She explained that the solution is to educate Austrians about their dark past. She believes that the Austrian narrative that “Austrians were the first victims of the Second World War” is incredibly dangerous for a resurgence of antisemitism. Instead, a narrative of responsibility must be taught. Austrians must recognize their stained history and recognize their responsibility to take action and ensure that it never happens again.
She led a tour of her new permanent exhibit at the library in the Austrian Parliament accomplishing just that. It was small and informative, defining antisemitism, providing testimonies, and discussing both what to do if you see antisemitism occurring as well as elements of societal discourse that people do not realize are antisemitic. The exhibit ended with a detailed description of Austria’s responsibility for the atrocities which occurred, providing a handout which briefly describes antisemitism and provides numbers and organizations to contact if one witnesses antisemitism.
After I viewed this exhibit, I felt a deep sense of pride. I could not help but stand in the presence of this exhibit, in the government building of a country which, in the very recent past, opened its arms to wholly embrace a man who sought the eradication of the Jewish people, in utter shock. Not even a century ago, the idea that the Parliament of Austria would feature a state-created exhibit on preventing and identifying antisemitism would have been entirely preposterous. As a Jew, how could I not feel amazement at seeing this acknowledgement and justice in a place once so void of that?
I stood there fantasizing — if only every city had an exhibit like the one in Vienna, if only every city took measures such as that to quell antisemitism. Images of Israeli flags lovingly flooding Washington, people uniting together outside the United Nations and unity flooded my mind and I felt pride knowing that that exhibit was part of an ever-important movement to halt rampant antisemitism. Every city should have an exhibit like that to rightfully, at long last, recognize and take responsibility for constant, unrelenting antisemitism.
But suddenly, in the midst of these feelings and thoughts of justice, my mind transported me from Vienna to America. I began to imagine the same exact exhibit, the same exact message, but about racism instead of antisemitism. I imagined that I stood in a federal museum, or even a state museum, in America, in front of an identical exhibit. An exhibit outlining microaggressions, explaining how racism is sometimes systematic, accusing me of racism, and stating that the government, that I, should take responsibility and acknowledge its dark past.
I was imagining this identical exhibit with the same messages and the same panels, but my feelings, my thoughts about it, could not be more different. I felt I was being accused of crimes which I did not commit, I was being unjustly lectured. Images of BLM riots, college campus encampments and chaos raced through my head, and I felt an anger and frustration rise inside of me. The feelings of importance and of justice exemplified by the previous exhibit wholly dissipated. Instead, imagining myself across from the exhibit on racism, I felt anger and frustration.
Instead of feelings of justice and pride, I imagined that exhibit with scoffing and resentment. It was clearly a ploy of the silly “woke agenda,” and it was absurd to have an exhibit lecturing me about crimes that are unfounded. I quickly dismissed that entire exhibit as being presumptuous and “woke.”
But in the midst of these feelings and thoughts of injustice, I was brought back to the Austrian Parliament — I was standing in front of the exhibit on antisemitism again, and my vision of justice and importance came surging back.
I couldn’t figure out what the difference was. Why was it that one exhibit felt like it was of the utmost importance and utmost justice, while I viewed the other as silly and unfounded? Why was it that I attributed so much importance to one, but dismissed the other for being “woke?”
I understood why I felt pride in front of one and not the other since, obviously and even correctly, I feel more pride and see more importance in the one which is about me and my people. It makes sense to have a greater appreciation for the exhibit which is about me.
But why were my associations with the one that wasn’t about me only of anarchy, extremism and heartlessness, ignoring the underlying point of the exhibit? Why did I completely reject one and completely laud the other?
I knew with certainty that the answer to my questions was not to completely and blindly accept the “woke agenda,” but I wasn’t sure what I should think of it. I wasn’t quite sure what the differences between the two exhibits were, and I wasn’t quite sure why I felt contradictory feelings between them.
As a Jew who is raised up when standing in front of the exhibit on antisemitism, should I feel the same way when standing in front of the same exhibit on racism? How should I, as a Jew, feel about the exhibit when it isn’t about me?
Photo Caption: The Austrian Parliament in Vienna
Photo Credit: Noam Schechter
