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Samuel Beckett’s characters may have seemed inert, but he didn’t wait to fight antisemitism
A newly published diary of Samuel Beckett’s extended trip to Nazi Germany in the late 1930s helps to explain why the Nobel Prize-winning Irish author became active in the Resistance movement in Occupied France. Already discussed and cited by Beckett scholars in such studies as Samuel Beckett’s German Diaries 1936–1937, the new book explains how the creator of Waiting for Godot, that dramatization of stasis and futility, could turn out to be a man of action opposing the Holocaust and the downfall of German culture.
At a time when only an estimated 1% or so of French citizens dared to assist the Resistance, Beckett was from neutral Ireland, where sympathies were often skewed to the enemies of the much-loathed British. But he risked his life to participate. Notoriously, after Adolf Hitler died in 1945, Irish Prime Minister Éamon de Valera visited the Reich ministry in Dublin to express official condolences at the demise of Der Führer. By contrast, Beckett scorned the Irish politician W.T. Cosgrave in a letter to a friend. Cosgrave, whose 1930s followers donned so-called Blueshirt uniforms and saluted superiors like worshipers of Mussolini and Hitler, was simply a “cockatoo” arrayed as a “Fascist,” according to Beckett.
Beckett spent time in almost three dozen German cities listening to fascists describe the appeal of the New Order, as well as radio broadcasts by Nazi leaders and other believers in the Third Reich. Yet unlike youthful foreign aesthetes who dallied in Fascist Europe, like the American architect Philip Johnson, who became a vocal advocate of Nazism and antisemitism, Beckett was never seduced by German propaganda. Possibly due to his close ties to Jewish friends and family members, Beckett refused to accept Nazi beliefs on race. Also, his finely honed artistic taste did not permit him to discard creative spirits because of their family origin.
Not limiting himself to reading about and discussing such persecution with sympathetic Germans as well as devotees of Nazism, he also spent time with Jews who had already suffered from the regime’s racial laws. One example was the painter Gretchen Wohlwill, a student of Matisse who was forbidden to paint by German authorities. Murals by Wohlwill at a public high school in Hamburg-Eimsbüttel named after women’s rights and education advocate Emilie Wüstenfeld were painted over by a Nazi-approved artist. Beckett met with Wohlwill repeatedly during his extended stay.
Beckett also dined at The Halali, a well-known Jewish-run wine restaurant and bar in the central Altstadt district of Hamburg. Ironically, the establishment’s name in German refers to a traditional cry or signal played on a horn to announce the successful end of a hunt. By the time Beckett patronized the place, Jews had already become the prey of Germany’s fascist rulers. His guest was Ilse Schneider, a German teenager on whom he had an unrequited crush. In romantic matters, Beckett was typically cool.
Indeed, a few months after returning from Germany, he had an affair with the American Jewish heiress and art collector Peggy Guggenheim, who found Beckett so languid and lethargic that she nicknamed him Oblomov, after an indecisive character in a 19th century Russian novel. An inert nobleman, the book’s eponymous hero rarely leaves his room or bed; in the first 50 pages, Oblomov only manages to move from his bed to a chair. Yet the inaccuracy of Guggenheim’s gibe was proven a few years later, when France awarded Beckett medals for working as a courier for a French Resistance network and assisting in sabotage operations against German occupation forces in the Vaucluse mountains, evading imminent arrest by the Gestapo. And all the while, he continued his literary output, polishing his much-admired 1944 novel Watt.
In his diary, just as the Polish Jewish historian Emanuel Ringelblum’s Notes from the Warsaw Ghetto were intended to preserve traces of daily life soon to vanish, Beckett carefully, even pedantically, noted details of his experience in Germany, even specifying the streets he walked along during outings in Hamburg and elsewhere, as if expecting them to be destroyed in an upcoming apocalypse.
The result is evocative, if not always compelling, reading. But an apparently dry extended list of paintings and monuments seen, noting when works by Jewish artists were missing or stored out of sight, had a documentary value in response to exalted rhapsodic Nazi tomes. Beckett carefully read (with frequent underlinings) Hitler’s manifesto Mein Kampf as well as “Der Stürmer” (Stormtrooper) a weekly German antisemitic tabloid newspaper. These doubtless made him reject lofty pro-Hitler advocacy which he persistently heard from others during his visit.
Although Beckett would always demur if interviewers asked about the philosophical content in his work, during his German visit and afterwards, he was drawn to Jewish philosophers in an attempt to puzzle out how Germany, whose culture and language he admired, could self-destruct through racist inhumanity. To address this mystery, Beckett pored over Baruch Spinoza’s Ethics; works by Edmund Husserl and Fritz Mauthner; and Ernst Cassirer’s biography of Immanuel Kant. Mauthner concluded with a prefiguration of Nazi devastation: “In his negative thinking, Kant is already the destroyer of everything.”
Similarly, soon after his arrival in Germany in 1936, Beckett realized that war was inevitable. Enthusiasm for Hitler, stoked by Propaganda Minister Josef Goebbels, was such that Germans “will soon have to fight: a war, or “they will explode.” With omnivorous energy akin to that of his mentor James Joyce, Beckett also consumed popular schlock like Erwin Guido Kolbenheyer’s novel about Spinoza, Amor Dei (Love of God), an antisemitic polemic that likens Jewish scholarship to a spider’s web spun over a “cup of joy,” to the “disgust of the thirsty.” Or Hans Grimm’s People with No Room (Volk ohne Raum), a fictional account justifying German invasion of East Europe to acquire land and wealth.
Beckett absorbed this deleterious material, but also read works of banned Jewish authors like Franz Werfel and Stefan Zweig. While mostly remaining discreet in public about his convictions, Beckett nevertheless marveled about the political obliviousness of Karl Ballmer, a painter whose canvases he admired. Ballmer would return to his native Switzerland in 1938 after blithely ignoring foreshadowings of the destruction of European Jewry.
The newly published diaries, which will appear next year in the U.S. and will be dramatized on Deutschlandradio, a public broadcasting corporation in Germany, understandably have less literary verve than Beckett’s missives to friends. Jotted down in a crabbed handwriting and not intended for publication, his diaries were preserved in a cellar storage space of Beckett’s Paris apartment and later donated to an archive at the University of Reading. Always one to belittle himself, the modest Beckett termed the journal “absurd” because it “serves no purpose” and is merely “the act of an obsessional neurotic.” On the contrary, as documentary evidence of how fascism can take hold of a population, its significance is ever-more timely and powerful for Jewish readers in America and elsewhere.
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Why The 36 Award
Antisemitism is, unfortunately, a fact of life in the United States and around the world. Jewish people continue to experience harassment, discrimination, and violence. Antisemitic tropes and conspiracy theories exacerbate the problem.
Antisemitism does not exist in isolation; it both reflects and accelerates the erosion of democratic norms, institutions, and trust, emerging alongside other forms of hate and prejudice that collectively weaken the social fabric and the shared commitments on which all communities depend.
And while naming antisemitism and its impact is necessary, what truly matters is our shared responsibility to confront it.
This is a moment to push back collectively, within and beyond the Jewish community. No single organization, community, or ideology can meet this challenge alone. The pursuit of solutions requires acknowledging what we do not yet know, remaining open to learning, and committing to the collective effort.
Nathan Cummings Foundation (NCF) approaches this work as part of a broader justice journey and our commitment to Racial, Economic, and Environmental Justice (REEJ). As an institution rooted in the Jewish tradition of tikkun olam, repairing the world, our commitment to social justice and Jewish values has long guided our work across our focus areas, which includes being in partnership with leaders across REEJ.
We believe that our pursuit of justice is incomplete if it does not also address antisemitism. Antisemitism is oppression and is inseparable from broader struggles against bigotry, exclusion, and threats to democratic life. Addressing it strengthens movements, deepens solidarity, and reinforces the conditions necessary for collective progress.
Recognizing and engaging this challenge is essential to building a more just, inclusive, and democratic society and advancing our pursuit of REEJ.
With all of this in mind, NCF, in collaboration with the Jewish Social Justice Roundtable and supported by a growing coalition of partners across the country, created The 36 Award. The award takes its name from a powerful concept in Jewish tradition: the belief that in every generation there are 36 righteous individuals whose actions help sustain the world.
Across the country, there are people confronting antisemitism in ways that do not always attract headlines. They are building relationships across lines of race, faith, geography, and ideology. They are helping communities navigate difficult conversations. They are creating new models, narratives, and pathways toward understanding. In many cases, they are demonstrating that combating antisemitism and advancing broader justice are not competing goals but mutually reinforcing ones. The 36 Award is designed to find those individuals and elevate and support their work.
The challenges before us are significant. Yet history reminds us that lasting progress often begins with people willing to see possibilities others overlook. The search for those people is what The 36 Award truly represents.
We believe that new ideas matter and that solidarity can be built through courageous leadership, which often emerges where few are looking. We are excited to announce the inaugural winners of The 36 Award. Please visit 36award.us to learn about these inspiring individuals.
Sincerely,
Rey Ramsey, President & CEO
Amy Sorensen Ben-Dov, Chair, Board of Trustees
Nathan Cummings Foundation
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The 36 Award Winner: Building a Public Health Response to Antisemitism
Myrieme Churchill, Executive Director of Parents for Peace (P4P), has been named an inaugural recipient of The 36 Award, honoring a decade of work building what may be the first confidential intervention program in the world focused specifically on antisemitism.
Churchill leads P4P, a national public health organization serving families, schools, and communities across the United States and Canada. Through its Antisemitism Intervention and Recovery (AIR) Program, P4P brings together licensed psychologists, peer interventionists, and a team that includes former neo-Nazis and former jihadists. Its central argument once sounded unlikely to many in the field: extremism is not just a security issue, but a public health crisis that demands early intervention, education, and community-based support. The need has grown sharply. P4P says it saw a steep rise in anti-Jewish hatred after October 7, 2023, both in its own caseload and across society. In 2025, 70 percent of its helpline cases involved antisemitism, spanning far-right white nationalism, jihadist networks, and far-left movements.
Churchill’s path to this work began in Morocco. The daughter of a Black Moroccan Muslim father and a white French Christian mother, she grew up biracial and rarely felt she belonged anywhere. As a child, she was excluded and targeted by other children who misidentified her as Jewish and often used the word “Jew” to insult her.
“That history gives me a deep appreciation for how identity, exclusion, and belonging shape people’s lives,” Churchill said.
Those early experiences left her with questions that have stayed with her ever since: Why do people hurt one another? Where does hate come from? Why have Jews so often been made the scapegoat? The questions led her to a career as a therapist. Her early work took her to the streets of Marseille, where she worked with young immigrants targeted by traffickers, and later to Boston, where she treated people with mental illness and addiction. Both jobs, she said, taught her how vulnerable people are at risk for abuse, self-destruction, and harming others.
Over years of clinical work in addressing addiction, Churchill began to notice a pattern. For some people, extremism seemed to work the way a drug does, offering relief from pain along with a sense of identity and purpose. People could get hooked on hate the way others get hooked on substances.
That insight became the foundation of the P4P model. Rather than treating extremism of any kind, including antisemitism, as a set of beliefs to argue with, the organization treats it as a maladaptive way of coping with grievance, isolation, and trauma. In P4P’s framing, extremism works like a psychological addiction, offering belonging at the cost of truth, safety, and humanity. Instead of relying on shame, public condemnation, or debate, P4P helps families recognize warning signs and assess escalating behavior, and helps their loved ones build healthier sources of identity, belonging, and purpose, while working with public safety resources when necessary. The goal is to replace hate with resilience, education, and genuine connection.
AIR, which P4P bills as the world’s first antisemitism helpline, builds on the organization’s existing public health approach and helpline model. It offers free, confidential support from trained interventionists to worried families, educators, and community members, as well as to people who are trying to step away from anti-Jewish beliefs themselves. P4P is also developing trainings for families, schools, and religious organizations on recognizing early warning signs, navigating online risks, and responding with evidence-based intervention.
The model was tested on the very first call to the AIR helpline in 2016. A mother had found several rifles under her son’s bed, along with a manifesto describing his plan to attack a synagogue. She was terrified and reluctant to contact law enforcement. Churchill stayed on the line and worked to earn the mother’s trust enough that she would call 911. The FBI later confirmed that the guns had been confiscated and that the young man had been hospitalized for treatment of psychosis.
“Courage sometimes means entering the worst moment of someone’s life and not looking away,” Churchill said.
P4P says its early intervention work has since helped prevent potential attacks on synagogues and violence against Jews, and has helped hundreds of people repair relationships, return to school or work, and rebuild lives no longer governed by extremist ideology.
Sagit Sade Attia, a member of the P4P board, described that work as a deliberate moral choice. “Rather than writing off people consumed by hate as beyond redemption, Myrieme has chosen the far more difficult path of engaging directly with individuals and families affected by radicalization, while never losing sight of the needs and safety of those targeted by hate,” she said.
The choice has not always been easy to explain. When Churchill first began describing extremism as an addiction, she recalled, people looked at her as if she had three heads. Public health framing has since moved closer to the mainstream, but an approach that begins with compassion for people who hold antisemitic views can still invite skepticism at a moment when Jewish communities feel under threat. Churchill answers by pointing to outcomes like the hundreds of families supported.
P4P doesn’t do this work alone. It has partnered with the Combat Antisemitism Movement, the ADL, the American Muslim and Multifaith Women’s Empowerment Council, and the Department of Homeland Security, as well as Bangladeshi and other immigrant communities. It has worked with the Harvard School of Public Health and Georgia State University to evaluate its work and to train former extremists as interventionists. Churchill has spoken at Eradicate Hate following the 2018 Tree of Life shooting, briefed Congress as part of a bipartisan effort, and testified before the Massachusetts Special Commission on Combating Antisemitism, where she urged antisemitism trainings in schools. Churchill puts it simply: “Antisemitism is not a Jewish problem alone; it is an all-of-us problem, and everyone pays the price when it spreads.”
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Building the Legal Case Against White Nationalism
David Brody, founder of the Alliance of Jewish Americans, has been named an honorable mention for The 36 Award in its inaugural year. Brody has spent his career in courtrooms and coalitions confronting hate, and he believes Jewish safety in the United States depends on standing with every community that white nationalism targets.
Brody traces his commitment to his family and to the South. “As a Jew from Georgia, my Jewish identity was defined against the backdrop of the Black-Jewish shared struggle in the South,” he said. His great-grandmother fled pogroms, arrived in the United States as an unaccompanied minor with no English or education, and became a union organizer. His father registered voters for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and spent four decades researching how poverty and discrimination affect the health of rural Black families. “My family taught that being Jewish in America means fighting for social justice,” Brody said.
Before launching the Alliance in 2026, Brody founded and led the Digital Justice Initiative at the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law, the first tech policy program at a legacy racial justice organization. There, he built the first case applying public accommodations law to online harassment, representing Taylor Dumpson, the first Black woman to serve as student government president at American University, against a neo-Nazi website’s publisher who targeted her. Brody co-led the team representing Metropolitan AME Church in Washington, D.C., in its case against the Proud Boys after the group vandalized the church. He helped draft and championed what became the AI Civil Rights Act of 2025, which more than 80 civil rights, privacy, consumer, and labor groups have endorsed. His nominator, Erin Simpson of the Ford Foundation, said Brody coined the phrase “privacy rights are civil rights” at a time when many did not yet see the connection. She described him as “the engine that powered an entire community of racial justice and technology policy organizations.”
Brody said Jewish civil society is robust but has lacked a dedicated national legal organization, similar to the NAACP Legal Defense Fund or Lambda Legal. The Alliance is meant to fill that gap. It uses open-source investigative techniques to collect and preserve evidence of civil and human rights violations and white nationalist threats, with the goal of making that evidence admissible in court.
From his years litigating against white supremacists, Brody saw that few organizations take on litigation against white nationalism systematically, and that most investigative work in the field produces research reports rather than evidence that can stand up in a legal proceeding. He argues that white nationalism, which has motivated deadly attacks ranging from Pittsburgh’s Tree of Life synagogue in 2018 to a Buffalo grocery store in 2022, poses the greatest threat to Jewish safety in the United States in generations.
The Alliance’s work includes both near-term and longer-term legal investigations. Part of this work involves leveraging AI tools responsibly, such as using them to accelerate needle-in-a-haystack investigations of white nationalist activity or other threats that would not be cost-effective for human researchers. Other work is meant to provide evidentiary foundations for long-term efforts to research, document, and seek accountability for rights violations in the U.S. Brody said he is focused on what the field needs now and what it will need in five years.
Brody’s approach to coalitions is grounded in patience. He spent six years drafting model bills, persuading allies with different priorities, and testifying twice before Congress in support of privacy protections. In 2024, when a bipartisan privacy bill in Congress was stripped of its civil rights protections, Brody gathered signatures from more than 50 organizations on an opposition letter in under 24 hours, and the bill died. “Those groups did not sign because I told them what to do,” he said. “They signed because I spent years working with them, earning their trust, and advocating for their interests.”
Brody credits the courage of his clients for putting their names and faces on high-profile cases against violent white supremacists. He arranges his work so that, by the time a moment of risk arrives, “we have friends at our side.” He resists the idea that this takes a special method. “Building bridges does not require a special approach,” he said. “One should show up for everyone, listen with empathy, and do the work.”
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