On Israelis and Anti-Semitism – Aharon Appelfeld

The attitude of Israelis toward manifestations of anti-Semitism is very interesting. Not theoretical rejections of Judaism of criticism of Israel as part of an anti-Semitic view, but events in which a specific individual is attacked only because he or she is a Jew—these generate a mixture of agitation and anxiety. Unlike Jews around the world—including those living in western Europe and the United States—who once in a while encounter anti-Semitic comments about their Jewish heritage, those born in Israel do not know what personal hatred for a Jew is. Within the Jewish world, there is one group who never experienced anti-Semitism directed specifically at an individual and not a group: the Israelis.

Aharon Appelfeld’s novels discuss the Holocaust extensively, but in his book, Poland: A Green Country (which, unfortunately, hasn’t been translated into English yet—the quotations here are my translations) he provides a different perspective: a description of what is called today a “heritage trip.” The protagonist, Jacob Fein, an Israeli-born, middle-aged son of Holocaust survivors decides to take a trip to a small village near Krakow where his parents came from. He leaves in Tel Aviv two daughters and a wife, from whom he feels estranged, and flies to Poland to see the place his parents described with such agonizing pain. Clearly the journey portrays Appelfeld’s view of current-day anti-Semitism in Eastern Europe. But just as interesting—and perhaps even more so—is the encounter of the protagonist, a man who was a fighting officer in the IDF, with anti-Semitic views and beliefs.

Jacob is surprised to see that Krakow, which was depicted as a miserable place in which Jews were persecuted, is a nice, lively city. And in the village where his parents lived, which “ exists within them. In a moment they would leave and return to the village,” he meets Magda, a pretty woman who as a child worked for his grandparents and was well acquainted with his family. The affair between them generates profound happiness. The landscape is breathtaking, just as his parents described it, but the human environment is menacing. Gradually, anti-Semitism ceases to be a chapter in a history book and turns into a very real phenomenon. He finds that parts of tombstones from the Jewish cemetery—including his grandfather’s grave—were used as tiles in a central square. His attempt to have the stones brought to Israel fails completely.

Appelfeld’s first observation is that there is complete asymmetry between the Israeli and the people of the village: Jacob encounters personal anti-Semitism for the first time. The villagers have well-defined views on Jews. At first, he hesitates to believe whether they really detest Jews, then he tries to characterize their anti-Semitic views. But the peasants have no doubts; most of them hate Jews and some like them, but in any case their views of Jews are fixed. Unlike them, the Israeli wavers on how to deal with them.

When he is convinced beyond a doubt that the peasants dislike him for being Jewish, a deep anger is awakened. But, unlike the generation of his parents, he is unable to look down and avoid conflict. Growing up in light of the ideal of the “New Jew” and being a combat soldier in the past, he is incapable of ignoring insults and threats. He also lacks the habit of Jews living in places where antisemitism is implicit to discount nasty comments or concealed discrimination. As he encounters this kind of hostility for the first time, he is frustrated. In his despair, he “was eager to tell him I am not afraid. Now our army can protect even a single Jew. Our army can reach any place.” It seems that Appelfeld isn’t suggesting that Jacob is too militant. His desire to lean on military force demonstrates his inability to deal with an environment that sees him—personally!—as a representative of vain heretics, money lenders, and also weak people unable to defend themselves.

Strangely, just as Jacob oscillates between feeling fragile and leaning on Israel’s military power, the peasants also perceive him as a man both weak and strong. On the one hand, in an argument with the head of the village, the latter tells him that Jews should not be proud, because they “went like a sheep to the slaughter. They didn’t even raise an axe.” On the other hand, one peasant says that the Israeli air force, the strongest on the planet—rules the world—echoing anti-Semitic views that the Jews rule the world.

Above all, for the first time, Jacob encounters the circular nature of anti-Semitism. There is no winning argument, no way to refute prejudice. A discussion on whether Christ was Jewish ends with the conclusion that Jews are traitors; acknowledging Jewish talent translates into an understanding that they take advantage of others; an offer to purchase the broken tombstones is reduced to a consensus that Jews would do anything for money; and so on. The hatred of Jews he sees is an extensive and comprehensive worldview; there is nothing he can do to remove it. Finally, one villager in the pub tries to hit him. Driven by a childish sense of revenge, Jacob pushes him to the floor and overcomes him.

There is also another side to this journey. In spite of the mostly hostile environment, connecting with the landscape of what was his parents’ homeland awakes a hidden sentiment. The countryside they missed so much, habits that were their habits—Magda prepares food he used to eat as a child. Gradually, he manages to understand the ambivalent feelings of his parents toward the village. The river enveloped by tranquility, the abundant greenery, coexisting alongside the profound hatred for each one of them. The trip to Poland revives the complex mental position of some survivors: longing and revolt toward a place that was both home and hell.