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70 years ago, this Jewish choreographer predicted our epidemic of loneliness and isolation
When the dance begins, they are all onstage together. But they are each very much alone. In the opening vignette of Anna Sokolow’s “Rooms,” there are eight chairs scattered across the stage and eight performers who inhabit them — like city apartments squished so close together yet keeping their occupants apart.
No one makes eye contact. They stare straight ahead. They stand and sit back down. They flop to the side and fold themselves over their thighs. They stretch out horizontally, one leg extending on a diagonal before falling to the floor with a thud. One dancer sets her chin in her palms, her gaze fixed on a corner, as though willing herself to see through a brick wall.
These are people trapped in their own tiny worlds, radiating loneliness, isolation, restlessness, fear, fantasy, desire, distress, panic.
Watching them at the Museum of Jewish Heritage in New York City last month — the day after the U.S. and Israel launched attacks on Iran, 13 months into a second Trump administration that has targeted immigrants and transgender people, among others, and in the midst of what former Surgeon General Vivek Murthy’s 2023 report deemed “our epidemic of loneliness and isolation” — one could easily imagine “Rooms” was created in 2026. Or during the global pandemic and lockdowns of recent history.
But Sokolow was long gone by the time COVID forced us into our own rooms, physically and socially distant from almost everyone else. She didn’t live to see the tiny screens and tempting apps that would degrade our attention spans and become intermediaries in so many of our conversations. She missed the rise of artificial intelligence chatbots that offer alternatives to human interaction.
Sokolow, who died in 2000 at the age of 90, created “Rooms” seven decades ago, in the wake of a world war and the Holocaust, at a time when polio was rampant, and in the midst of a nuclear arms race and the Red and Lavender Scares of the 1950s.
Yet “Rooms” still feels believable, relatable and unsettling today.
‘An incredible humanity’
The daughter of Russian Jewish immigrants who arrived in the U.S. at the turn of the 20th century, Sokolow grew up on the Lower East Side of New York City — at the time, the densely packed “capital of Jewish America.” Sokolow’s mother, Sarah, a factory worker, was active in the International Ladies Garment Workers Union and was, as Sokolow later described her, “a staunch Socialist.”
Sarah was “angered by the conditions she observed all around her,” writes Sokolow’s biographer, Larry Warren, and kept up with “socialist causes and political activities” by reading Yiddish-language newspapers such as the Forward.
Like her mother, Sokolow looked closely at what was happening around her. She took it all in and put it onstage, Samantha Géracht, artistic director of the Sokolow Theatre/Dance Ensemble, told me.
“She walked everywhere,” said Géracht, who was part of the rotation of dancers who accompanied Sokolow to rehearsals when she kept walking everywhere, slowly, into her 80s. “Every shopkeeper, every unhoused person in a doorway, everybody spoke to her, and she spoke to everyone,” Géracht said. “She looked and saw everyone and everything, and she didn’t dismiss any of them.”
Though secular, Sokolow was driven by Jewish values, Hannah Kosstrin, a dance historian at Ohio State University and director of its Melton Center for Jewish Studies, told me over Zoom. “She was most interested in making dances about the underdog,” said Kosstrin, who is also the author of Honest Bodies: Revolutionary Modernism in the Dances of Anna Sokolow. “About people who were not served by society, people who were unwanted, untouchable, and people who had been through the worst of humanitarian experiences.”
In the 1930s, she made, among other dances, the anti-fascist “Anti-War Trilogy”; “Slaughter of the Innocents,” inspired by the Spanish Civil War; and “The Exile” — which portrayed Jewish life in Europe and the arrival of Nazism. She danced “Kaddish” in 1945 as an “elegy” mourning the Jews who perished in the Holocaust, according to Kosstrin, and later choreographed “Dreams,” which Géracht describes as Sokolow’s “Holocaust nightmares onstage.”
Her work “has an incredible humanity to it,” Kosstrin said.
Kosstrin first encountered Sokolow through a film of “Rooms” as a freshman dance major. “I just remember being absolutely taken with it. It was so intense and so gritty and so real,” she said. “I felt a very particular kind of distress in a way that I had never felt watching dance before,” she added. “That was so incredibly powerful.”
“Rooms,” which had its New York premiere in 1955, was inspired by the Lower East Side tenement houses of Sokolow’s youth. It’s spare — performed with no backdrop, only lighting, chairs, and simple costumes to an original jazz score by the American composer Kenyon Hopkins. Part of its enduring potency is that it could represent any time and any place.
‘I believe you’
Introducing the performance at the museum, Géracht set the scene with one simple instruction. Picture, she told the audience, a building with its facade removed so you could peer into all the apartments and look — really look, as Sokolow would — at the people inside.
In one vignette titled “Going,” a man careens about like he’s just flipped the release valve on his pent-up energy, exploding in big jumps, sliding onto the floor, and snapping his fingers. In “Desire,” six dancers slide their feet back and forth as though caressing the ground. They reach an arm or a leg, as if yearning to entangle their limbs with a lover’s.
In “Escape,” I saw a woman dance with someone who isn’t there. She stands, arms thrown up high, spinning around herself. She flits around the stage. She pulls two chairs to face each other, sits down, and catches the air in an empty embrace. Later, she swipes at each of the chairs in turn and they clatter to the ground.
“She’s very different from me,” dancer Ilana Ruth Cohen told me of the character she embodies in “Escape.” “I do not escape easily, and I don’t tend to look for an escape.” What’s helped, she said, is “remembering the moments I do have where I am drifting or dreaming or imagining being somewhere else, and then trying to use Anna’s movement to expand my experience of those moments.”
There are no prescribed narratives in “Rooms,” just snippets of images and an urgency of emotion that might be read differently by every spectator. That’s OK, Cohen said. “I’m not trying to make sure that the audience knows what my experience is,” she explained. “I’m using my experience to make the movement true, and then the audience has an experience because they’re with me as that’s happening.”
Kosstrin focused her research around the idea of “honest bodies” in part as a way “to highlight Sokolow’s emphasis on believable, raw vulnerability in performance.” As such, Lauren Naslund, an associate artistic director of the ensemble, told me at a recent rehearsal, high praise from Sokolow would be: “You’re doing it in your own way, and I believe you.”
In the vignette “The End?” I saw a woman having a breakdown. Her left hand makes talking motions — thumb to fingers, open and shut — arguing with her right. Her fingers rise toward her ears and wiggle frantically as she extends her arms outward. She steps onto her chair, head tilted back, and flaps her arms like wings in slow motion. Her fragile psyche manifests in movement. She is, perhaps, hearing voices in her head. Feeling her thoughts slip out of her control. Wondering whether she wants to remain in this world.
“Rooms” concludes as it starts, with eight chairs and eight dancers — so close to each other, but still very much alone.
There’s a clip Géracht shows in her lectures with a voiceover from Sokolow speaking on top of footage from “Rooms.” “I don’t end it, because I don’t feel there’s any ending,” Sokolow says. “That’s the Jew in me. Ask the world a question and there’s no answer. All I do is present what I feel and you, you answer.”
‘A kind of beacon’
The Sokolow Theatre/Dance Ensemble was about four weeks away from presenting “Rooms” when the COVID-19 pandemic sent everyone home in March 2020 and cleared live performance calendars indefinitely. Suddenly, Géracht said, “we didn’t have to struggle with the idea of how to understand isolation.”
Relegated to their homes like everyone else, the dancers continued working on “Rooms” over Zoom. “You can’t go outside. There’s no classes. There’s no rehearsals. There’s nothing,” remembered dancer Margherita Tisato, who performs the challenging solo “The End?”. “Having a task and having time to dedicate to do this was definitely lifesaving on an emotional level, probably for a lot of us.”
At the same time, she said, “it was asking me to dig more and more deeply into the thing that was, at the moment, really, really hard.” The project provided a creative outlet, but also forced her to grapple with her own feelings of aloneness and isolation.
Eventually, the dancers worked with their rehearsal directors to select the right angles, propped up their computers and phones, and hit record to capture themselves navigating bookcases, coffee tables, cats, and narrow hallways. Naslund edited the footage together to create “Rooms2020,” a COVID-era interpretation of the piece they couldn’t share in person. They later partnered with Madison-based Kanopy Dance to livestream a joint production from Wisconsin and New York, offered virtual workshops to college dance students, and put on a “Rooms” symposium.
“There could not have been a better dance to stage during the pandemic than ‘Rooms’ on video in people’s apartments,” Kosstrin said. Looking back, she said, it offers a social, emotional, and aesthetic window into that moment, with so many stuck in their own bubbles and thrust into each others’ living rooms through tiny squares on their screens.
Géracht said she immersed herself so deeply in “Rooms” that she needed a break before revisiting it again. Although the lockdown experiences are still embedded in the dancers’ bodies and memories, they couldn’t let the work get stuck or stale.
“You don’t want to replicate what you did six years ago,” said Géracht.
“It’s like going on a hike up a really high mountain. Maybe you’ve climbed that mountain,” she said. “You kind of know the way, but you still have to do the whole hike from the bottom to the top.” Every time you do it, “you’re different, the movement’s different, the world is different. And I don’t want the last version you did. I want you now. Which is why we can do the work for so long.”
Géracht is intent on breathing new life into Sokolow’s dances in 2026 and beyond. She wants audiences to experience the “wealth and range” of Sokolow’s work and “understand her genius,” Géracht said, as an artist who “shows us our entire spectrum of human emotion.”
In “Rooms,” Sokolow reminds us, in 2026 as in 2020 as in 1955, what it’s like to crave connection or touch. To conjure a loved one in our mind, only to be startled by the reality of their absence. To get lost in a daydream. To fear what’s outside our control. To feel utterly alone. To be consumed by panic. To fall apart.
Complete, live productions of “Rooms” are somewhat rare. But the ensemble has just confirmed it will perform the piece again at the Philadelphia Fringe Festival in September. Having seen — and felt — it for myself recently, I hope there will be many more shows to come.
Distressing as it may be to see this “cry of alienation and isolation” reflected back at us right now, Kosstrin said, it could also help us find our way. “We are seeing so many things happen around us that [are] making us question our humanity and other people’s humanity,” she said. Artists like Sokolow, she believes, “can give us a kind of beacon as we try to muddle through these times.”
The post 70 years ago, this Jewish choreographer predicted our epidemic of loneliness and isolation appeared first on The Forward.
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NYU student draws hate crime charges for flying flag with swastikas, Star of David over campus building
(New York Jewish Week) — A New York University student is facing hate crime charges for allegedly raising a flag depicting a Star of David, two swastikas and the letters “NYU” over a university building during commencement last month.
Alexander Stepnowsky, 23, of Fairfield, Connecticut, was arrested Tuesday afternoon on the Lower East Side of Manhattan and charged with one count of hate crime burglary, two counts of aggravated harassment and one count of criminal trespassing in a hate crime, according to the New York City Police Department.
An NYU spokesperson said Stepnowsky would also face discipline from the university.
“The symbols that were represented are antisemitic and hateful to every person of conscience; this appalling act violated our sense of community and solidarity,” said the spokesperson, Wiley Norvell. “In addition to criminal proceedings, we will immediately pursue our disciplinary procedures, which carry the most severe consequences.”
The arrest comes as NYU has faced heightened scrutiny over antisemitism and anti-Israel rhetoric on its campus in recent years. In 2024, the school revised its hate speech policy to define slurs against “Zionists” as potentially in violation of its harassment code. During this year’s commencement, the school withheld the diploma of student who used his address to accuse Israel of genocide.
The flag depicting the swastikas flew briefly over the roof of New York University’s Steinhardt building, named for the major Jewish philanthropists Michael and Judy Steinhardt, during the school’s commencement on May 13.
Michael Steinhardt is a co-founder of Birthright, the organization that underwrites free trips to Israel for young Jewish adults.
Stepnowsky pleaded not guilty at his arraignment Wednesday and was released without bail, according to CBS News.
The office of Stepnowsky’s lawyer, Vickie Mwitanti, declined to comment.
The post NYU student draws hate crime charges for flying flag with swastikas, Star of David over campus building appeared first on The Forward.
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Research studies in Yiddish by noted historians, now in English
מיט װאָס זײַנען די היסטאָרישע פֿאָרשונגען אױף ייִדיש אַנדערש פֿון די, װאָס זײַנען אָנגעשריבן געװאָרן אױף אַנדערע שפּראַכן? ווי עס שרײַבט ד״ר מאַרק סמיט, דער רעדאַקטאָר פֿון דער אַנטאָלאָגיע „דאָס בּױען און טרייסטן אַ פֿאָלק: ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע היסטאָריקער אין זײערע אײגענע װערטער“, איז דער פֿאָקוס פֿון די ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע פֿאָרשונגען געװען אױף די אינערלעכע זײַטן פֿונעם ייִדישן לעבן.
דערצו נאָך, שרײַבט סמיט, איז זײער קוק אױף דער ייִדישער געשיכטע כּסדר געווען פּאָזיטיװ, „להיפּוך צו די אַנדערע היסטאָריקער, ייִדן און ניט־ייִדן, װאָס האָבן אין זײערע שטודיעס באַטאָנט יסורים און רדיפֿות פֿון ייִדן“.
די אַנטאָלאָגיע נעמט אַרײַן 49 אױסצוגן פֿון ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע היסטאָרישע װערק. דאָס רובֿ פֿון זײ שטאַמען פֿון דער ערשטער העלפֿט פֿונעם צװאַנציקסטן יאָרהונדערט.
די טעקסטן זײַנען צעטײלט אין זיבן טעמאַטישע אָפּטײלן, װאָס שפּיגלען אָפּ די הױפּט־ריכטונגען פֿון פֿאָרשונגען: ייִדישע קהילה־אױטאָנאָמיע; קולטור, עקאָנאָמיק און געזעלשאַפֿט; באַציִונגען מיט די אַרומיקע אומות־העולם; ייִדישע ליטעראַטור; פּרעסע און קאָמוניקאַציעס; ייִדישע דערציִונג, און ביכער־רעצענזיעס.
יעדער אָפּטײל באַהאַנדלט די געהעריקע טעמע כראָנאָלאָגיש, פֿון פֿריִערע צײַטן ביזן חורבן. אַזױ באַקומט דער לײענער אַ ברײטן באַגריף פֿון דער היסטאָרישער אַנטװיקלונג פֿון יענעם אַסקעפּט פֿונעם ייִדישן לעבן.
דער ענין פֿון דער ייִדישער אױטאָנאָמיע האָט לעצטנס אַרויסגערופֿן אַ נײַעם אינטערעס מצד די קעגנערס פֿון מדינת־ישׂראל און איר פּאָליטיק. אַ סימן איז דער גרױסער דערפֿאָלג פֿון מאָלי קראַבעפּלס בוך װעגן דעם בונד, װאָס טענהט, אַז די פּראָגראַם פֿון דער נאַציאָנאַל־קולטורעלער אױטאָנאָמיע איז געװען בילכער פֿונעם ציוניסטישן פּראָיעקט פֿון ייִדישער מלוכישקײט.
דער גײַסטיקער פֿאָטער פֿון דער פּאָליטישער פּראָגראַם פֿון ייִדישער נאַציאָנאַל־קולטורעלער אױטאָנאָמיע אין גלות איז געװען דער היסטאָריקער שמעון דובנאָװ, וואָס איז, אַגבֿ, ניט געווען קײן בונדיסט, נאָר אַן אָנפֿירער פֿון דער ליבעראַל־דעמאָקראַטישער פֿאָלקספּאַרטײ.
די אַנטאָלאָגיע עפֿנט זיך מיט פֿראַגמענטן פֿון זײַן איבערזיכט „אױטאָנאָמיע אין דער ייִדישער געשיכטע“ אינעם ערשטן באַנד פֿון דער „אַלגעמײנער ענציקלאָפּעדיע“, װאָס איז אַרױס אין פּאַריז אין 1934.
װי אַ היסטאָריקער, האָט דובנאָװ געװאָלט אײַנװאָרצלען ייִדישע פּאָליטיק אינעם ייִדישן עבֿר. ער האָט געפֿונען אַ היסטאָרישן מוסטער פֿאַר דער מאָדערנער ייִדישער אױטאָנאָמיע אינעם „װעד ארבע אַרצות“ (ראַט פֿון די פֿיר לענדער), דעם הױפּט־אָרגאַן פֿונעם פּױלישן ייִדנטום אינעם 17טן און 18טן יאָרהונדערט.
אָבער װי עס האָבן דערװיזן אַנדערע היסטאָריקער, אַזעלכע װי ישׂראל סאָסיס, רפֿאל מאַלער און יצחק (איגנאַצי) שיפּער, האָט דובנאָװ שטאַרק אידעאַליזירט די ראָלע פֿונעם װעד.
דער װעד איז, דער עיקר, געװען פֿאַרטאָן אין זאַמלען געלט פֿון ייִדישע קהילות אױף צו שטיצן די אײגענע פֿירערשאַפֿט און צעטײלן כאַבאַר צו פּױלישע מאַגנאַטן. בלױז אַ פּאָר פּראָצענט פֿונעם בודזשעט האָט דער װעד אױסגעגעבן אױף די נױטן פֿונעם כּלל.
צום סוף האָט דער װעד ן באַנקראָטירט צוליב די ריזיקע חובֿות צו קאַטױלישע קלױסטערס. אין 1764 האָט דער פּױלישער סײם (פּאַרלאַמענט) ליקװידירט דעם װעד און באַשלאָסן צו זאַמלען שטײַערן פֿון ייִדן אױפֿן מאָדערנעם שטײגער, פֿון יחידים אַנשטאָט קהילות.
דער ערשטער טײל פֿון בוך ענדיקט זיך מיטן קאַפּיטל, ייִדישע ׳אױטאָנאָמיע׳: די יודענראַטן אונטער דער נאַציסטישער אָקופּאַציע“. דאָס איז אַ קאָמפּילאַציע פֿון דרײַ אַרטיקלען פֿון ישעיהו טרונק, װאָס אַנטפּלעקט װי זײַן נעגאַטיװע אָפּשאַצונג פֿון יודענראַטן איז געװאָרן מילדער מיט דער צײַט. ער האָט דערזען אַז אײניקע אָנפֿירער פֿון יודענראַטן האָבן טאַקע געפּרוּװט העלפֿן ייִדן אין די געטאָס.
גענומען אין אײנעם, װײַזן די דאָזיקע קאַפּילטען, אַז ייִדן האָבן קײן מאָל ניט געהאַט קײן פֿולע פּאָליטישע אױטאָנאָמיע. די חױפּט־פֿונקציע פֿון דער ייִדישער קהילה־אױטאָנאָמיע איז געװען אונטערצושטיצן באַציִונגען מיט דער הערשנדיקער מאַכט.
דאָס רובֿ אױסגעקליבענע טעקסטן באַהאַנדלען טעמעס, װאָס האָבן צו טאָן מיטן ייִדישן כּלל אָבער ניט מיט חשובֿע יחידים. און װען עס גײט די רײד טאַקע יאָ װעגן יחידים, זײַנען דאָס כּסדר געװען כּלל־טוער. למשל פֿיליפּ פֿרידמאַנס אַרטיקל דערצײלט װעגן דעם גאַליציאַנער משׂכּיל יוסף פּערל (1773־1839), דעם גרינדער פֿון דער ערשטער מאָדערנער ייִדישער שול אין טאַרנעפּל (הײַנט אין אוקראַיִנע) אין 1813.
עס פֿעלן דאָ אָבער װיכטיקע היסטאָריש־ביאָגראַפֿישע פֿאָרשונגען װעגן אײנצלנע ייִדישע שרײַבער, דיכטער, אַקטיאָרן און קינסטלער. דער דאָזיקער בלױז שפּיגלט אָפּ דעם רעדאַקטאָרס קוק אױף ייִדן אין מיזרח־אײראָפּע װי אַ „נאַציאָנאַלער גרופּע, װאָס װערט באַשטימט דורך דער בשותּפֿותדיקער געשיכטע און קולטור“. אַזױ באַקומט זיך, אַז די היסטאָרישע ראָלע פֿון אַ יחיד, אַפֿילו אַזאַ גאון װי מענדעלע מוכר־ספֿרים, איז ניט זוכה אַ ספּעציעלן קאַפּיטל.
די צװײ צענטערס פֿון ייִדישער היסטאָרישער פֿאָרשונג צװישן די בײדע װעלט־מלחמות זײַנען געװען אין פּױלן און אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. אין די 1920ער יאָרן האָבן בײדע צענטערס נאָך געקענט אונטערהאַלטן קאָנטאַקטן. אין די 1930ער יאָרן איז דער אידעאָלאָגישער און פּאָליטישער דרוק מצד דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד געװאָרן אַ סך האַרבער, און מען האָט שױן מער ניט געקענט שאַפֿן װערטפֿולע און אָריגינעלע היסטאָרישע װערק. אַזױ איז געװען דער גורל פֿון סאָסיס, װעלכער איז אַרױסגעטריבן געװאָרן פֿון דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ אין 1931 און האָט פֿאַרלױרן זײַן שטעלע אין דער װיסנשאַפֿט־אַקאַדעמיע פֿון בעלאַרוס.
אין פּױלן, להיפּוך, איז אױפֿגעקומען אַ נײַער דור ייִדישע היסטאָריקער, אַזעלכע װי רפֿאל מאַלער, עמנואל רינגלבלום און פֿיליפּ פֿרידמאַן, װאָס האָבן שטודירט געשיכטע אין פּױלישע אוניװערסיטעטן און האָבן געקענט דרוקן זײערע װערק אין אַקאַדעמישע זשורנאַלן אױף ייִדיש און פּױליש.
אינעם װאַרשעװער געטאָ האָט רינגלבלום אָרגאַניזירט דעם היסטאָרישן אַרכיװ „עונג־שבת“, װאָס האָט געזאַמלט מאַטעריאַלן װעגן דעם לעבן און טױט אינעם געטאָ. ער און כּמעט אַלע מיטאַרבעטער זײַנע זײַנען אומגעקומען אינעם חורבן.
די, װאָס האָבן איבערגעלעבט דעם חורבן – מאַלער, פֿרידמאַן, טרונק און אַנדערע — האָבן ממשיך געװען זײער אַרבעט, לכתּחילה אין פּױלן און שפּעטער אין אַמעריקע אָדער ישׂראל. דאָרט האָבן זײ געאַרבעט דער עיקר אין ייִװאָ און יד־ושם, און זײער פֿאָרשערישע טעמע איז געװאָרן דער חורבן.
מאַרק סמיט האָט אָנגעהױבן זאַמלען מאַטעריאַלן פֿאַר דער אַנטאָלאָגיע מיט צװאַנציק יאָר צוריק. די ייִדישע אָריגינאַלן פֿון װערטפֿולע היסטאָרישע װערק זײַנען צעזײט און צעשפּרײט איבער אַלטע צײַטשריפֿטן, װאָס לרובֿ זײַנען זײ ניט צוטריטלעך עלעקטראָניש. די אַנטאָלאָגיע אַנטפּלעקט די דאָזיקע רײַכע ירושה פֿאַרן ברײטערן עולם לײענער, און זי װעט זײַן ספּעציעל ניצלעך פֿאַר לערער און סטודענטן פֿון ייִדישער געשיכטע.
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In the course of his 104 years, he resisted the Nazis, fought against blood libel and became a towering Jewish intellectual
Today, in a public ceremony held at Les Invalides, President Emmanuel Morin led the French Fifth Republic in paying its last respects to one of the nation’s great public figures, Edgar Morin, whose 104 years spanned the Third and Fourth Republics as well. He was a sociologist, philosopher, writer, film director and screenwriter. But Morin’s real profession was as an intellectual.
There is a vast literature on the character and career of the French intellectual — much of it written by intellectuals — just as there is much disagreement on when this social type first appeared. Some historians reach back as far as the Enlightenment and the role played by les philosophes like Voltaire in their struggle for political liberty and religious toleration, while other historians argue that the modern intellectual burst onto the scene more than a century later with the Dreyfus Affair.
It was at that pivotal moment in late 19th century France that the word “intellectuel” gained currency. Used as a term of scorn by antisemites like Maurice Barrès, they believed Captain Alfred Dreyfus was guilty of treason precisely because he was Jewish. As for those “intellectuals” who defended Dreyfus, Barrès dismissed them as “aristocrats of thought who boasted they did not think like the vile crowd.” Yet those same intellectuals, led by the novelist Émile Zola, gladly embraced the description. Convinced that objective reason and truth made Dreyfus’ innocence clear, they believed, as Zola famously declared, that “truth is on the march.”
But, as Morin always insisted, truth is complex. So, too, was his career, which in many ways reflects the origin story of the French intellectual. Born as Edgar Nahoum in Paris in 1921, his parents were Jewish immigrants from Salonica, a city that had been home to Greece’s largest Jewish community until World War II. (Nearly 90% of the community, some 54,000 men, women, and children were eventually murdered in Nazi death camps.) A precocious student, Nahoum spent his days in libraries studying German philosophers like Hegel and his nights in cinemas studying French films directed by the likes of Marcel Pagnol.
Yet everything changed, including his name, come France’s defeat and occupation by Nazi Germany in 1940. Making his way to the Unoccupied Zone, the 20-year-old Nahoum, who had been a pacifist before the war, soon joined both the banned Communist Party and the French Resistance. By 1944 and liberation, Nahoum had not only become a lieutenant in the Free French Forces, but due to a typo that turned his combat pseudonym “Manin” into “Morin,” the young man was renamed. In fact, he was remade. “What would we have been without the Resistance?” Morin later wondered. “It was thanks to the Resistance that we were given a life.”
And what a life it turned out to be. In 1951, the rebellious Morin, who was outraged by the Soviet show trials, was invited to leave the French Communist Party. At the same time, though he did not have a graduate degree, Morin was nevertheless invited — thanks to the recommendations of the philosophers Vladimir Jankéklévitch and Maurice Merleau-Ponty — to join the prestigious National Center for Scientific Research in Paris in 1950. It was there that he launched a career that fused his academic interests as a sociologist with journalism.
For the next three quarters of a century, Morin seemed to be everywhere all at once. (When I lived in France, I had the impression that, whether on the shelves of bookstores, pages of newspapers, or sets of television shows, I was always bumping into him.) When he was not being interviewed in documentaries, he was making them; when not publishing one of his more than 40 books, he was reviewing books written by others; when seismic events occurred, he was there before anyone else — and got a book out faster. And the books, the work of an intellectuel engagé, were often themselves events that left their mark on Morin’s contemporary audience and future scholars.
One of the most notable of these is La Rumeur d’Orléans, or Rumor in Orléans. In May, 1969 — just one year after the student rebellions that had swept across France (and about which Morin had already published a book) — a rumor started to sweep across the small city of Orléans, famous for being defended against the English by Joan of Arc in the 15th century. The rumor that took flight in Orléans in 1969 — a variation of the blood libel against Jews — was as old as Joan’s achievement. In the dressing rooms of several local clothing stores, so the rumor went, young women were being drugged and sex trafficked. Moreover, the owners of all these stores were, of course, Israëlites (the frequent moniker for French Jews since the 19th century.)
That there was not a single reported case of a missing, much less abducted, woman had little effect on the crowds that gathered outside these stores. As the crowds grew, along with the fear of the store owners and their staffs, the news media picked up on the event. Politicians and pundits expressed outrage and confusion over the rumor — how could this be possible just a quarter-century after Auschwitz, they asked — and the police began to investigate. They could not find a single culprit.
Within weeks of the news reaching Paris, Morin had collected a half-dozen colleagues and set up shop in Orléans to make sense of the rumor. The team, who described their work as la sociologie événementielle, or “event-based sociology,” interviewed locals, met with officials, and rifled through archival documents. Their conclusion reflected a truth dear to Morin: the complexity of any single event. By complexity, Morin did not mean “complicated,” a word we often use when we refuse to engage a subject. Instead, a complex event spans not only the many factors that made this event possible, but also encompasses the way in which our own theories and thoughts alter our understanding of the event. This complex event, Morin concluded, was partly the work of rapid modernization and the great changes it wrought: urbanization, consumerism, and sexual rebellion. It was as if, one historian remarked, “miniskirts were taking people back to the Middle Ages,” and back to the Jew as the traditional scapegoat for these vast social and economic disruptions.
But only partly. The man who described himself as “Judeo-Gentile” always insisted that events often take not just ordinary folk, but also specialists by surprise. Just as no one predicted France’s defeat in 1940, Morin never thought he had the courage to become a resistance fighter. Yet he did. This is a lesson in humility, of course, but also a lesson in humanity. “Let us make our way in uncertainty,” Morin always insisted, “but also in fraternity.” If only we could make this motto our own.
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