the loneliness of french jews

The date of October 7, 2023, is already written in letters of fire in the history of French Judaism. “Since that day, I have been nothing more than a Jew in the eyes of others,” says Samadar, a Franco-Israeli, between two puffs of a bitter-tasting cigarette. The sixty-year-old had never defined herself by religion. Having arrived in France as a young girl and raised in the spirit of the hippie movement, she quietly continued her life far from faith, as a “very left-wing” citizen. In her youth, she had even demonstrated in the streets of the capital in favor of Palestine, draped in a keffiyeh – a black and white checked scarf that has become a symbol of the Palestinian cause.

Today, everything has changed. Pro-Palestinian Muslim influencers are calling for “leading the intifada in Paris” against Israel, like the listed S Elias d’Imzalène, an activist from Île-de-France. Everyone is being asked to choose their side: that of the Palestinians or that of the Jewish community. The attack carried out on October 7 by Hamas in Israel has precipitated the Israeli-Palestinian conflict into a bloody impasse, for which the Jews, wherever they live, are held responsible.

In its assault, the terrorist movement caused 1,205 deaths and is still holding 97 hostages, including 33 declared dead by the Israeli army. For a year, the fury of the Netanyahu government has continued to pour out on Gaza, causing a massacre: the Hamas Health Ministry has recorded more than 40,000 deaths. NGOs, including UN agencies, speak of an “apocalyptic” situation: lack of access to drinking water, risks of famine and epidemics, damaged or destroyed hospitals. Abroad as in France, the country hosting the largest diaspora in Europe, Jews feel targeted. “The difficulty is that today the notion of ‘Jew’ does not only refer to religion, but also to that of people, of nation, analyzes sociologist Michel Wieviorka. It has become synonymous with attachment to Israel.”

Samadar recalls those friends of twenty years, non-Jews, who, after October 7, did not even bother to call her to find out if her family in Israel was safe. “Instead of asking how I was, they shared posts on social media defending the Palestinians,” she sighs. Disgusted, she cut ties. Like her, the entire Jewish community in France – around 450,000 people – feels isolated, misunderstood, with the impression of being immediately associated with the policies of the Israeli Prime Minister. And in this deleterious climate, anti-Semitic acts are increasing: 1,676 recorded with the police in 2023, compared to 436 the previous year and less than a hundred before the 2000s. “The climate in our country has changed,” believes Gad Ibgui, director general of the Elie Wiesel University Institute. Anti-Semitic speech is reawakening. We thought it was confined to private spheres, but today, elected officials of the Republic can relay it. However, the liberation of speech leads to action.

Community closes ranks

At the end of August, the worst was avoided at the synagogue in La Grande-Motte (Hérault): an individual had set fire to the building and was lying in wait for the faithful, an axe in his hand. Hugues, a Parisian working in financial asset management, was listening to the news on the radio as his vehicle sped towards this department. Three days later, his son’s wedding was taking place outdoors, by the sea. “I had visions of horror. I feared that it was an organized network ready to strike in the region and attack us…” What to do? Even if they are going to be singled out for their affiliation, they might as well assume it, conclude some French Jews. Three days after the shock, Samadar went to buy herself a Star of David. “I chose the biggest necklace in the store. In winter, I even wear it over my anorak. » Now, she meets every Friday at noon with other members of the Parisian community to call for the release of the hostages. They understand each other, even if they do not share the same opinions on Israeli or French politics. That day, a good fifty people are gathered on the forecourt of the 260-Enfants, in the Marais – named in memory of the schoolchildren deported to Germany. Samadar chats with Anna when the conversation turns to the multiple demonstrations against “Bibi” (alias Netanyahu). “There is no Jewish vote” – meaning homogeneous – says Samadar, a peace supporter, with a shrug.

“Groundhog Day”

Since October 7, the prayer room of the Beaugrenelle synagogue, in the 15th arrondissement of Paris, has been packed to the rafters on Friday evenings for the start of Shabbat. All generations meet there. And all profiles. “There are not only practicing Jews,” notes Rabbi Delphine Horvilleur, who has officiated here for more than fifteen years. “For all of us, life has changed,” she adds, “while the rest of the population continues to live.” Many come here seeking peace and a way to put words to what they feel. On this September evening, after eleven months of psychological fatigue, the words of Delphine Horvilleur, who published the book last spring How are you doing? (Ed. Grasset) resonate louder in the assembly: “It’s still October 7. It’s a never-ending day…” Discreetly, some rub their eyes with a handkerchief. “Here, I feel good, like at home,” says a worshipper before leaving. Others prefer to hug the walls and adopt new reflexes: not carrying their groceries in a bag with the name of the kosher store – products authorized by Jewish dietary laws -; hiding the cover of a Jewish magazine when reading it in a public place; increasing security at the entrances to synagogues and schools when the police are not there. At the entrances and exits of schools, “protective parents”, trained by the Jewish Community Protection Service, keep watch, equipped with earpieces and walkie-talkies… These groups have existed for about ten years, but have been reinforced. Some no longer frequent the places they do daily. While she was having lunch with her family in a kosher restaurant in Seine-Saint-Denis, Sandrine Szwarc’s meal was interrupted by stones that broke the window. “It happens so often that the boss doesn’t bother to file a complaint…” This historian had asked to be able to teach remotely at her university, in the face of provocations from some of her students. When the management refused, she stopped giving her courses on contemporary Jewish history.

Young people tempted to leave

For this granddaughter of deportees, the tragedies of the past resurfaced when she saw a young teenager writing the letters “SS” on the steamed-up window of the tram she uses every day. “As I don’t wear any distinctive signs, I don’t think I was targeted. But it proves the trivialization of anti-Semitism,” she sighs. “We are citizens like any other, we should feel safe everywhere.”

Some are tiptoeing out of the country and heading for Israel. The movement – ​​called Alya – is nothing new, but it is increasingly involving active thirty-somethings. “If I were that age, I would have packed my bags,” says Michel Ouazana, president of the Alfortville synagogue (Val-de-Marne). Others are thinking about leaving for the United States, Canada or Switzerland. “It’s the question of the moment,” adds Ari, an entrepreneur. For the first time in his life, he too is thinking about taking the plunge. “I feel like I’m less and less heard, safe or supported in the public sphere,” he explains. For this future father, who feels French first before being Jewish, all he needs is a “little spark” to make him pack his bags. Which one? “The arrival of La France Insoumise in power.” “That day, he is sure, “there would be 400,000 cases registered.” The party leader, Jean-Luc Mélenchon, wrote last summer on his blog that anti-Semitism remained “residual in France.” These remarks do not go down well within the Jewish community.

“I have been asking for years that the fight against anti-Semitism be a national cause,” protests Haim Korsia, the Chief Rabbi of France. “If we submit to the dictates of fear, it is the defeat of the Republic.” Gad Ibgui, director of the Elie Wiesel Institute, nevertheless believes that things can still change. “We have forgotten it, but we can live together without agreeing.” The times, alas, invite quite the opposite.