Features
“Antisemitism from the Crusades to the Holocaust”

Presented by LIONEL STEIMAN at the Lanny Remis Speakers Forum, May 8, 2025.

One of the questions I wanted to answer in my course on the history of antisemitism was why culturally assimilated European Jews seemed blind to the rising tide of antisemitism during the years in which they had grown up? Of course they didn’t have the benefit of hindsight. They knew of the pogroms, of course, but they were in Russia, not in such sophisticated centres like Vienna, Prague, and Berlin, cities to which Jews from the east had flocked by the thousands, taking advantage of the opportunities offered during the rapid industrialization of the later nineteenth century. In Vienna they would eventually become the propertied and educated elites of the upper middle class. What they underestimated was the danger they faced from masses prone to the appeals of antisemitic demagogues.
The reason was that these Jews were the beneficiaries of what was called “Jewish emancipation,” the removal of age-old restrictions on Jews that had limited what they could do, where they could live, and much more. Emancipation facilitated the admission of Jews to society on terms of equality with other citizens. They were granted the right to vote, freedom of movement, access to education, and other areas from which they had been barred. France was the first country in Europe to emancipate its Jewish population, which it did during the French Revolution. Subsequently, the process of ‘Emancipation’ was launched everywhere in Europe except the Russian Empire, and by the later 19th century was relatively complete.
Emancipation had been the product of the so-called Enlightenment, when philosophers and rulers got the bright idea that Jews, whom they had regarded as scarcely human, would stop being Jews if only they were given an opportunity to be like everyone else. If they were given freedom, the right to vote, and access to other occupations than peddling and money-lending they would lose the negative characteristics associated with Jews. This Jewish ‘character’ was not considered a matter of ‘race’ or ‘blood’, but was seen as a product of the environment in which Jews were forced to live. But behind these novel ideas lay centuries of popular hatred and prejudice rooted in religion and superstition.

So it was almost inevitable that there would be a popular reaction against the emancipation of Jews, and attempts made to roll it back. Jewish entry into areas in which they’d never before been seen made people uneasy, to say the least. And because Jews in western Europe were abandoning their distinctive dress and manner, thus assimilating and becoming indistinguishable from non-Jews, their presence came to be feared all the more. Opponents of emancipation demanded the re-imposition of restraints and restrictions on Jews, many of which dated back centuries. They organized and gave themselves a name intended to distinguish themselves from the religious bigots they scorned. Their “The League of Antisemites”, was founded in 1878 by a journalist by the name of Wilhelm Marr.
The word ‘Antisemite’ was a totally new, totally invented word. But it had a scientific ring to it, as did so much else in this age of scientific progress. Antisemitism dissociated itself from the age-old anti-Jewish prejudices rooted in religion and legend, claiming instead to have a basis in science. The word ‘Semite’ was taken from the field of philology and referred to a grouping of languages, though soon it was referring to a category of people as well. And since Jews were the only “Semites” in Europe, it was they whom anti-Semites opposed. Soon, inflammatory antisemitic publicists and their products proliferated in various countries, most especially in France and Germany, the countries where ‘Emancipation’ had proceeded furthest, and needed to be rolled back. Meanwhile, beneficiaries of Emancipation dismissed antisemitism as a matter for the gutter, or for cynical politicians

The most prominent politician to exploit antisemitism before Hitler was Karl Lueger, the famous mayor of Vienna, who used it to woo the masses. During his tenure from 1897 to 1910, Vienna became the most advanced city in the world: public facilities such as gasworks, public transit, and housing were unmatched anywhere else. And nowhere else in Europe did Jews feel more secure. Lueger was a charming man; with Jewish friends, he was often seen attending Jewish marriages and bar mitzvahs. When the contradiction was pointed out, he replied, “I decide who’s a Jew.” Antisemitism was socially acceptable and taken for granted everywhere. After all, compared to Jews in Russia, with regular pogroms claiming hundreds of lives, Jews in Vienna, Prague, Paris, or Berlin were safe and could relax. They would never have dreamed of joining the hundreds of thousands of Jews fleeing Russia for America every year. In fact, they scorned them, and their Yiddish, which they regarded as a “jargon and not a language at all.

Nothing remotely like the Russian pogroms had occurred in the West since the First Crusade of 1095. Prior to that, the Jews of Europe had enjoyed relative peace and security. And because their value as physicians, merchants, and scholars were prized by rulers, Jews often enjoyed privileges later denied them. So why had everything changed in 1095, with the launch of the first Crusade, the armed campaign to secure recapture the Holy Land from Islam? When Pope Urban II proclaimed the Crusade he made clear there was no act more deserving of heavenly reward than to die on Crusade: to do so was assurance of immediate salvation. But when the first crusaders set out for the Holy Land, they asked themselves: “Why are we going all the way to the Jerusalem to defeat Christ’s Muslim enemies when the Jews who murdered him are right here among us?” So as the armies of French Knights set out for the East, they plundered and massacred age-old Jewish communities en route, and even made significant detours to do so. Some of the Jewish victims believed their suffering heralded the coming of the Messiah. Others thought the Pope had promised a blanket pardon to anyone who killed a Jew. Jews could save themselves by becoming Christian, and some were offered baptism. Such conversions were rare. Far more common was mass ritual suicide, or “Kiddush ha-Shem”, sanctification of the divine name.
Within a century, popular pressures moved the Pope to decide to legislate that Jews everywhere be required to wear some distinguishing mark. Specifics were left to individual countries. France required Jews to wear a yellow patch on their cloaks; Germany required a yellow, cone-shaped hat. To this day, ‘yellow’ has negative connotations, notably that of cowardice. The year of this legislation was 1215: from that point on, Jews are seldom depicted without such insignia, whether in art, sculpture, or other illustrations. This began a process that continued for centuries: the separation of the ‘image’ of the Jew from their human reality. The very word ‘Jew’ became a synonym for various undesirable qualities, triggering repugnance by its very mention.
This separation of the ‘image’ from the individual allowed Jew-hatred to flourish in the absence of Jewish people. In the mid-1970s a student of mine from Sioux Lookout told me that before he came to Winnipeg he thought that “Jew” was simply a word for crooked bargaining. The boy was himself no anti-Semite; he seemed totally open-minded, and eager to learn. I found that people with Jewish friends or a Jewish doctor or other professional could still hold antisemitic views simply because their prejudices were independent of their lived experience. A colleague from a town in the north of England told me that folks there seemed to have three categories of Jews: there were “powerful international Jewish financiers”; there were the Jews in the Bible- the “Israelites”; and there were Jewish shopkeepers, who were well liked but who didn’t affect their prejudices about “the Jews.”
Where did all this begin, this separation of “Jews” from the individual human beings they really were? We have to go back to the very beginning of Christianity, which began as a radical messianic sect of Jews, whose leader, a young rabbi called Jesus, was tried and executed by a Roman court under the authority of the Roman Governor. His followers believed he was the “Messiah” who would transform Israel. Their foremost missionary was Saul of Tarsus, much later known as St. Paul. Although Saul’s original mission was to persecute the followers of Jesus, he underwent a conversion “on the road to Damascus” and joined them. Paul’s sermons and letters became central books in what eventually became the New Testament. Because Greek was the common language of the eastern Mediterranean world, Saul became Paul, and “Messiah” became ‘Christos’. Soon Christians and Jews became ever deeper entrenched in an antagonistic relationship. Christians couldn’t understand why Jews refused to recognize the truth and accept Christ. Either they must be blind, or stupid. Since obviously they were neither, they must be evil. And so in the New Testament’s book of John they are “sons of the devil” and bound to do his work. (John 8:14) During the Holocaust, some people cited the passage from Matthew in which the Jews implicitly confess their guilt for the death of Christ: “His blood be upon us and our children” (Matthew 27:25).
Throughout the centuries that followed, Jews were depicted in various art forms as devil-like creatures, with horns and tails and cloven feet. Sculptures on churches and public places showed Jews with blindfolds signifying they were blind to truth. A particularly popular motif was the so-called “Judensau”, which depicted a rabbi lifting the tail of a huge pig to look for his Talmud, while other Jews gathered beneath the pig to suckle. Variations of the “Judensau” can still be found sculpted in public places in Europe. Then there was the so-called “foetor judaicus.”, the innate stench of the Jewish body. And it only got worse.

The Church Fathers who laid the theological and pastoral foundations of Christianity defined Jews as a threat to the moral and political foundations of Christendom, just as they were a threat to the soul of every individual Christian. Some Church Fathers accused Jews of killing Christ, thus making all Jews thereafter guilty of the crime of “Deicide”, killing God! Scores of other accusations against Jews proliferated. The logic was simple: for if you would kill the Savior, what else wouldn’t you do? Soon Jews were being accused of all manner of outlandish crimes: spreading plague by poisoning wells; killing Jewish children to use their blood in baking matzoh; and even drinking Jewish blood in their rituals. If you would believe what was patently impossible- since drinking blood was taboo for Jews, what wouldn’t you believe? And thus, reasoned one prominent historian of antisemitism, the road to Auschwitz was begun over a thousand years ago.

Incidentally, the last “blood libel” trial was held in Kiev (then in the Russian Empire) Russia in 1913. The verdict was ambiguous: yes, the crime had indeed been committed, but the accused, Mendel Beilis, was not the murderer. Although both sides could claim victory, the trial helped perpetuate the myth of ritual murder: the killing of a Jewish child to use its blood to bake matzoh.
But if the “road to Auschwitz” was begun a thousand years ago, why wasn’t the attempt to exterminate Jewry also begun a thousand years ago? After all, in the 4th century C.E. Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire; the Romans made life difficult for Jews but made no attempt to kill them all. Why not? The answer lies with the greatest of the Church Fathers, St. Augustine (354-430). It is true, he wrote, that the Jews are guilty of the crime of Deicide, of killing the Savior. So they should be persecuted, but not too much; and they must be made to suffer, but not too much. And they should not live near Christians. Their suffering and eternal “wandering” would be proof of their guilt; and they would be living (if unwilling) witnesses to the truth of the Christian faith. This idea was repeated in variations by subsequent Popes, who in any case held out the possibility that Jews could avoid all this by converting. The Jewish communities of Europe, despite some ups and downs, were able to live relatively peaceful lives. Theirs was not an unbroken tale of suffering. But the myths, legends, and lies about them remained.
The attack on this hateful tradition began in the 18th century, the age of Enlightenment. The absurd notions of Jews having horns or drinking Christian blood now seemed out of place. Philosophers and intellectuals attacked all manner of superstitions including those that appeared to support Christianity. In attacking the Church these thinkers also attacked its beliefs that justified Jew-hatred. The further decline of religion in subsequent centuries occasioned by the rising prestige of science might have resulted in a decline of anti-Jewish prejudice, but instead the whole cluster of prejudice and superstition only found a more secure foundation in science.
Of course the word ‘science’ here must be qualified, for in the 19th and even part of the 20th centuries “science” included craniology, physiognomy, and eugenics. Today they are regarded as pseudo-sciences and historical curiosities, but prior to World War II they enjoyed a respect like that accorded to physics or any other exact science. Everywhere, “race” was accepted as a valid category for defining human groups, though its analytical usefulness was increasingly questioned until the term itself was discarded. By the 1880s Europe had completed its ranking of the world’s so-called “races” along a sliding scale. White, northern Europeans topped the list, which ranked other inhabitants according to skin colour, head-shape, physiognomy, and other physical characteristics, all of which were believed to denote the intellectual and moral qualities indicating a group’s level of ‘civilization. So where did Jews fit in? At first they were ranked simply as a sub-group of Europeans; one theory even had them at the apex of the white race; but antisemites attempted to find a scientific basis for excluding them. Since the Middle Ages, as was pointed out, Jews were believed to have a distinctly unpleasant odor, so there must be a scientific basis for it; but none was found. Researchers fanned out over Europe measuring skulls, noses, and other physical features thought to distinguish Jews from other white people. Was there a typical ‘Jewish nose’? One survey found the so-called Jewish nose was most prevalent in the Polish nobility. Research found no support for the popular belief that Jews were dark while gentiles were fair. Regional variations were such that many different ‘races existed within any given country. Wider research showed that Jews tended to resemble the populations in whose midst they resided.
In today’s “post-Truth” era we know too well that dangerous beliefs can persist despite overwhelming evidence against them. This is what happened with the cluster of beliefs encompassed in the term ‘antisemitism.’. The failure of science to support antisemitism or the notion of “race” did not stop people from believing that it did. Others recognized that science could provide little support to prejudice, so antisemites shifted their ground again: the essence of race, they argued, was in the blood—not in its physical elements but in elements which could not be measured, and whose power was therefore all the greater. By thus elevating ‘race’ to the level of ‘mystery’ late 19th century racists were merging prejudices based on religion with the emerging force of nationalism based on “race.” To the ancient belief that Jews were the enemies of Christ was added the modern belief that they posed a threat to the nation. Thus religious and racial antisemitism were strengthened by the most powerful political force ever to emerge, modern nationalism. And because Jews were a threat to race, which was the biological foundation of the nation, they were enemies of the state.

The political force of this antisemitism showed itself in 1897 with the election of Karl Lueger as mayor of Vienna, who was mentioned earlier. The antisemitism that was such a powerful force in central Europe also ignited the worst political crisis in France since the French Revolution, the Dreyfus Affair. Raging at the very time Lueger was making Vienna the most advanced city in Europe, the Dreyfus Affair threatened to destroy the French Republic. Spreading far beyond the issue of the guilt or innocence of Alfred Dreyfus, the Jewish officer charged with treason, it polarized the nation between supporters of the Republic, and those who would restore the pillars of the old order: Monarchy, Church, and Aristocracy.
With the spread of industrialism and its threat to agrarian and village life, there was a heightened urgency to demands that the influence of Jews be curbed. The prominent role of Jews in finance capital and speculation earned them blame for the scandals and crashes that dogged the era. Jewish prominence in the free professions of medicine, law, journalism and publishing all increased Jewish vulnerability to various charges of malfeasance. Add to this the persistence of the blood libel, and public depiction of Jews as pigs, goats, and devils; the stereotypes of greedy, conniving Jews proliferating in literature and fairy tales everywhere—the list goes on and on. The reality is that antisemitism had come to permeate the intellectual and cultural life of Europe. Its assumptions were widely shared across the political spectrum; general distaste for Jews was fashionable in high society; blatant antisemitism was articulated at all levels of culture, and freely expressed from church pulpits and in parliaments- including those of Canada.
But what was it about antisemitism in Germany that made the country ripe for a rabidly obsessive anti-Semite like Adolf Hitler? Israel’s most respected Holocaust historian once commented: “If people had been told in 1914 that within one generation most of the Jews of Europe would be murdered, their answer would most certainly have been: The French are capable of any crime.” The reason for this comment was that France was by far the most prolific producer and disseminator of antisemitic literature, purveyed by some of its most respected writers and intellectuals across the political spectrum; it was the home of repeated outbursts of vicious Jew-hatred, most notorious of which was the Dreyfus Affair, the likes of which had never been seen in Germany. The name Edouard-Adolphe Drumont (1844-1917) is synonymous with French antisemitism. In 1886 he published La France Juive. Its Index listed not only prominent Jews but all prominent figures having anything to do with Jews, implicating thousands in what many already believed was an inevitable national degeneration. Drumont provided a list of “hidden Jews” who had been masquerading as Frenchmen. Since antisemitism permeated every element of French culture and politics, there was no need for a specifically anti-Semitic party or movement. Antisemitism was simply a constant in culture and society.

Germany was considered the safest country in Europe for Jews, and although antisemitism was certainly widespread, it hadn’t occasioned significant violence there since the revolutionary upheavals of 1848. So what happened? Why was the Holocaust “Made in Germany”? The answer is Adolf Hitler. There is a consensus amongst many historians: “No Hitler, No Holocaust.” Antisemitism was a necessary cause of the Holocaust, but it was not a sufficient cause. The Nazis were an insignificant bubble in the froth of discontent, for which people commonly blamed the Jews. In the years following World War I, Antisemitism was common currency in political discourse all over Europe. For Hitler, communism and capitalism were both Jewish conspiracies, and the major figures in both were all of them Jews, whether in Moscow or New York. During the 1920s, support for the Communists and Nazis grew, especially during the Great Depression. In 1932, 30% of the German labour force were unemployed, compared to 22.5% in the US and 24% in Canada. Even so, the Nazi victory was not inevitable. In late 1932 the party’s electoral support was declining. There were several other options available, and yet President Hindenburg chose to appoint Hitler Chancellor.
Hitler’s subsequent dismantling of German democracy is part of a complex political story involving far more than the antisemitism which was common everywhere. In any case, Hitler’s genocidal hatred of Jews was not wholly representative. Antisemites may have desired the exclusion of Jews, but not the annihilation of the Jewish people. While Hitler’s murderous fantasies were exceptional, he was able to gain control over the entire state apparatus necessary to realize them. And however extreme his views, their individual elements were available and accessible throughout the Christian West. Everywhere in Europe, the Nazis found accomplices in murder because their victims were Jews, everywhere the historical ‘other’. The Holocaust was the product of a pervasive antisemitism that, in the Nazi mind, placed the Jewish people outside the bounds of humanity, and marked them for extinction.
Features
Will Former Soviet States Join the Abraham Accords?

By HENRY SREBRNIK President Donald Trump’s administration has been discussing with Azerbaijan the possibility of bringing that nation and some Central Asian allies into the Abraham Accords. During his first term in office, four Muslim-majority countries agreed to normalize diplomatic relations with Israel. It is now closer to fruition.
The Abraham Accords, signed in 2020, were a historic step and are considered a breakthrough in Israel’s relations with Arab states. On the surface, these agreements with Bahrain, Morocco, Sudan, and the United Arab Emirates, heralded not only diplomatic engagement but also the normalization of ties in every field, including technology, economy, tourism, security, and agriculture.

While the original Accords were centered on diplomatic ties, Azerbaijan and every country in Central Asia already has relations with Israel, meaning that an expansion of the Accords to include them would largely be symbolic, focusing on strengthening ties in areas like trade and military cooperation.
Although the Abraham Accords were initially agreements over Israeli-Arab normalization, the pacts have since transcended Arab borders into a high-profile forum that can incorporate Muslim countries committed to shared values of tolerance, peace, and prosperity.
Wedged between Russia to the north and Iran to the south, Azerbaijan occupies a critical link in trade flows between Central Asia and the West. The Caucasus and Central Asia are also rich in natural resources, including oil and gas, prompting various major powers to compete for influence in the region.
Azerbaijan normalized relations and trade with the Jewish state in the early 1990s, shortly after gaining independence from the Soviet Union. Since then, ties have quietly flourished under the stewardship first of Heydar Aliyev and subsequently that of his son, Ilham.
Last year, trade between the two countries reached nearly one billion dollars, mainly in the energy and defence sectors. Azerbaijan has become Israel’s critical energy partner, supplying more than 60 per cent of its gasoline needs. It has also become Israel’s second-largest defence customer, accounting for nearly a tenth of all Israeli defence exports between 2018 and 2022.
Russia, Azerbaijan’s Soviet-era political master, is currently preoccupied with its war in Ukraine, leaving it with little ability to interfere in the South Caucasus. Meanwhile, Iran, Azerbaijan’s southern neighbor and ideological challenger, is now at its weakest political point in decades, with minimal influence in the country’s internal affairs through religious appeal or sectarian outreach, as it has tried to do in previous years.
Kazakhstan also enjoys strong ties with Israel, and Astana benefits from advanced Israeli agriculture, medical, water, and security technology. The Abraham Accords provide an opportunity to further deepen security and economic cooperation and could help the country reduce its economic dependence on Russia and China at a time when such dependence is proving to be a liability.
Trump’s special envoy for peace missions, Steve Witkoff, traveled to Azerbaijan’s capital, Baku, in March to meet with Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev. As part of the discussions, Azerbaijani officials contacted officials in Central Asian nations, including in nearby Kazakhstan, to gauge their interest in a broader Abraham Accords expansion. For Azerbaijan, the Accords could provide a path to expanded security cooperation against Iranian threats and, if pursued in coordination with Kazakhstan, progress towards its goal of becoming a bridge to Central Asia
Joseph Epstein of the Turan Research Center at the New York-based Yorktown Institute, a non-partisan program dedicated to exploring modern-day developments in the Turkic and Persian worlds, argues that bringing Azerbaijan into the Abraham Accords would signal to Muslim majority states in Central Asia that open cooperation with Israel is both possible and worthwhile. It would also squeeze Tehran which sees a secular Shia state aligned with Israel and Turkey as a strategic problem.
“When President Donald Trump shared a clip of Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev’s speech at the Shusha Global Media Forum on Truth Social, it wasn’t just a friendly gesture,” Epstein explained. “It signaled that Azerbaijan’s partnership with Israel and the United States is now firmly on his radar.”
At a time when the United States was trying to get the Abraham Accords back on track, all of this was certainly encouraging. But a sticking point remained: Azerbaijan’s conflict with its neighbor Armenia. The Trump administration considered a peace deal between the two Caucasus nations as a precondition to join the Abraham Accords. The breakthrough came on Aug. 8, when Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev and Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan signed a joint letter officially indicating their willingness to end their conflict.
The pact also gives the U.S. exclusive rights to develop a transit route through a mountainous stretch of Armenian territory between Azerbaijan known as the Zangezur corridor. It will connect Azerbaijan proper with its Nakhchivan region, which borders Baku’s ally Turkey via Armenian territory. The new transit corridor will allow unimpeded connectivity between the two countries while respecting Armenia’s sovereignty and territorial integrity and its people. The securing of that route also marks a significant setback for Russia and Iran in the South Caucasus. Restrictions were also lifted on defence co-operation between Azerbaijan and the United States.
Trump framed the agreement as a “peace deal,” writing on Truth Social that “Many Leaders have tried to end the War, with no success, until now.” This is another feather in a potential Trump Nobel Peace Prize cap.
Henry Srebrnik is a professor of political science at the University of Prince Edward Island.
Features
Roman Polanski’s take on the Dreyfus Affair is perfect for 2025. That’s the problem

By Talya ZaxAugust 8, 2025
(Ed. note: An Officer and a Spy is not yet available for streaming in Canada. It is available for streaming on Prime Video in the U.S.)
This story was originally published in the Forward. Click here to get the Forward’s free email newsletters delivered to your inbox.
In the opening scene of Roman Polanski’s An Officer and a Spy, a retelling of the infamous Dreyfus Affair — in which Alfred Dreyfus, a French Jewish officer, was falsely accused of treason at the turn of the 20th century — Dreyfus, played by Louis Garrel, is paraded past a silent crowd of his peers to suffer a punishment known as degradation.
That is historically accurate. In 1895, after his conviction, Dreyfus underwent the public humiliation of having the adornments of his rank ripped off his person, and his sword broken, all while he vainly protested his innocence.
But for anyone familiar with Polanski’s own history — or the history of this film, which was released in Europe in 2019, but is only now getting its U.S. theatrical premiere — the double meaning is clear.
Because Polanski, who in 1977 pleaded guilty to “unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor,” is one of the legions of Hollywood men to face public disgrace over sexual misbehavior. (He fled to Europe after learning that a judge planned to issue him a harsher sentence than was agreed in his plea deal.) When An Officer and a Spy first came out, Polanski said that his attraction to the Dreyfus story was in part attached to his own case: “I can see the same determination to deny the facts and condemn me for things I have not done,” he said.
What a difference six years makes. In 2019, only two years after the #MeToo movement rocketed to public prominence, Polanski’s film couldn’t secure distribution in the United States. In 2023, the next movie he made, a poorly reviewed comedy called The Palace, suffered the same fate.
But in 2025, the backlash against #MeToo has reached an apogee, and allegations of rampant antisemitism have come to define much of American political life. Now, An Officer and a Spy‘s long-delayed American premiere — a two-week run at Manhattan’s Film Forum, beginning on Friday — suggests that Polanski’s barely-veiled “J’accuse” against his detractors may be newly relevant.
A scapegoat in search of a savior
Dreyfus is not the hero of An Officer and a Spy. Instead, he’s a foil for the rest of the action: a convenient martyr, whom Garrel bestows with a kind of drippy intensity. No one, including the film’s real subject — Georges Picquart, the antisemitic army official who trained Dreyfus and reluctantly comes to campaign against his conviction — has much attention to spare for him.
Even Polanski seems bored by Dreyfus’ suffering; when his camera visits the desert island to which Dreyfus is banished, it’s more fascinated by the desolate landscape than the lonely Jew wasting away within it. And as Picquart, played by Jean Dujardin, pieces together the conspiracy that framed his formal pupil, he doesn’t appear to feel any real compulsion to reconsider his general distaste for the man himself.
Instead, he’s driven by his commitment to the ideals that have informed his career in the French army, chief among them orderliness and an adherence to proper procedure. To the extent that Picquart is radicalized by his adventures as a political outcast — a natural consequence of his insistence on airing the truth — it’s by becoming skeptical of the official structures in which he once put faith, not skeptical of his own inclination toward bigotry.
In other words, this is the story of a crusader so committed to justice that he sees his personal feelings as unimportant. If Polanski thinks of himself as Dreyfus — polarizing and perhaps unlikable, but the victim of a moral panic nonetheless — he is, in an Officer and a Spy, putting out a call for some powerful party to serve as his Picquart. Which brave soul, the film wonders, will take a similar stand against the social furor that made Polanski a cultural outcast — albeit one who won multiple César Awards, the French equivalent to the Oscars, for this film — not because they like him, but because they can see that what he’s suffered is wrong?
That framing is a bold choice. The men who have attempted post-#MeToo comebacks have generally done so from a stance of bashful victimhood. When Kevin Spacey, whom more than 30 men have accused of sexual assault or inappropriate behavior, received an award at a gala hosted during this year’s Cannes Film Festival, he portrayed himself as a wrongly outcast golden boy now receiving his just rewards. “I feel surrounded by so much affection and love,” he said.
Polanski is doing something different. He’s not suggesting that he’s too nice and gentle to be responsible for all the things of which he’s been accused. Instead, he’s arguing that no matter how much his viewers might hate his guts, they should turn a gimlet eye upon the processes that led to his banishment from Hollywood, the U.S., and even many institutions of European cinema. (A French woman accused Polanski of rape shortly before An Officer and a Spy‘s French release; amid an outcry over French accolades for the film, Polanski didn’t attend that year’s César Awards, and when he was announced as Best Director, several attendees walked out in protest.)
The allegory of antisemitism
After Dreyfus is carted away to exile, in An Officer and a Spy, Picquart, who watched his degradation, is summoned by a superior who asks how the crowd reacted. The feeling, Picquart says, was that of a body that had rid itself of a pestilence.
Polanski is examining how the establishment reacts to what it perceives as the will of the public — how its self-protective mechanisms lead it to be in a constant race to anticipate the people’s prejudices, and fulfill them.
In his vision, the parties complicit in framing Dreyfus appear to be driven not by personal antisemitism so much as the sense that, because Jews have come to be widely held in suspicion by France’s citizenry, acting against Jews is a sure way to maintain their own hold on power. The generals who eventually perjure themselves in an attempt to prevent Picquart’s success know that if they admit that Dreyfus was innocent, the public won’t see them as noble and brave. They’ll see them, instead, as having joined with nefarious forces for personal gain.
Polanski, in making An Officer and a Spy, accurately anticipated a cultural turn that would see all kinds of people beginning to perceive themselves as “the Jews” in situations of societal discord: victims of a witch hunt, based on an ambient cultural sense that someone should be held accountable for all the things that are wrong in all our lives, while authorities tacitly encourage the scapegoating.
It happened during the COVID-19 pandemic, as some who were resistant to public health measures began comparing themselves to Jews in Nazi Germany. It’s happening now, as some Republicans have tried to turn Jews into avatars for conservatives, with the argument being that both groups have been persecuted by promoters of “wokeness.”
There is a natural parallel, as well, in the story of #MeToo. In the movement’s heyday, the locus of power in the sexual realm seemed to have shifted. The time in which successful men could basically do as they pleased was over. A new power structure had been adopted; adherents of the old one began to see themselves as victims of a shadowy new elite.
What happens when people begin to see a real historical conspiracy as an analogy for every development they dislike? Do they find a harmless outlet for their grievances, or do they simply risk becoming more suspicious, and more conspiratorial? In a U.S. where the president owns a social media outlet called Truth, any number of people going to see An Officer and a Spy might see something of their own plight in that of Dreyfus. And any number of them might idolize Picquart as a vigilante uncovering deep governmental rot.
They may or may not be right. After all, there’s much injustice in the world, today as at the turn of the century. But I fear that while An Officer and a Spy might be trying to investigate the kind of conspiratorial mindset that gave rise to the Dreyfus Affair, what it’s really doing is reinforcing it.
Talya Zax is the Forward’s opinion editor. Contact her at zax@forward.com or on Twitter, @TalyaZax.
This story was originally published on the Forward.
Features
Gritty tale of two Holocaust survivors’ rescue by American soldiers

The Boys in the Light by Nina Willner
Reviewed by JULIE KIRSH, Former Sun Media News Research Director
In 1945, my father dug a hole on the grounds of Buchenwald concentration camp. He pulled a dead inmate’s body over him as a cover. The SS guards in the camp were rounding up Jews. He knew that he would not survive a forced march. He heard American soldiers’ voices but was too weak to call out. Having contacted typhus from the dead body, he was dying. On April 11, 1945, a black American soldier carried my 70 pound father like a babe in arms to the medic station where he received an instant blood transfusion which probably saved his life.
The author of The Boys in the Light, Nina Willner, tells the true story of her father, Eddie, German born, and his best friend, Mike. Both boys were teenagers who survived Auschwitz, Blechhammer and Langenstein labour camps. Eddie’s father, a decorated soldier in the German army in World War I, kept the boys under his wing. The discipline that he learned in the German army was imparted to the boys until his death in the camps.
In a riveting chapter, the boys make a run for it. Eddie is shot in the arm, a German Shepherd bites Mike in the leg but, nevertheless, the boys escape and allow the River Eine in Germany to carry them away from their captors.
The Boys in the Light includes stories of other boys. Young American soldiers, mostly in their twenties, had been fighting the war as part of Company D. Their unit, led by the extraordinary, twenty-three year old Lieutenant Elmer, was cemented by faith and a need to survive, not unlike the young Jewish Holocaust survivors.
As the two emaciated boys encountered the American soldiers, the author tells us “that was the moment Eddie and Mike walked from the darkness into the light.”
Although the US forces were under strict orders to bypass all refugees they encountered, Lieutenant Elmer, a staunch Christian and an inspiring leader, took the teenagers under his unit’s wing.
Pepsi, the kitchen cook, was entrusted with bringing these boys back to life. Food, compassion and Company D’s willingness to incorporate the boys into their brotherhood, saved Eddie and Mike. The boys’ presence provided an understanding to the American soldiers of what they were fighting for and against.
In this compelling book, the reader learns about the Hitler’s rise to power, the hatred directed against European Jewry, and the young American soldiers who sacrificed their lives far from home.
The last days of the war in the spring of 1945 find Eddie and Mike in the company of this very special unit. Although the US army’s mandate at the time was not to provide aid to refugees encountered on the road, Lieutenant Elmer broke every rule in the book by providing sanctuary to the two emaciated boys.
After the war, the soldiers of Company D did not abandon their wartime fidelity to each other. Even after fifty years, the veterans continued to celebrate their renewal of life with annual reunions. In trying to track down the soldiers, the author’s parents only had their nicknames, which made the search elusive.
Finally, Eddie’s wife located Lieutenant Elmer and told him that Eddie had been recounting the story of his liberation by Company D to his family for his entire life.
In September 2002, Eddie hosted a reunion at his home in Falls Church, Virginia. Mike had died of cancer in 1985. Both “boys” had found new lives as proud Americans.
“Dashing soldiers became stooped grandfathers,” but the men of Company D had not forgotten the two teenagers who stood in front of US tanks with hope in their eyes.
When Lieutenant Elmer arrived at the reunion, the veteran soldiers stood at attention. A grandson of one of the veterans asked Eddie about the tattoo on his arm. Eddie’s grown children moved through the room and thanked the old soldiers for “saving our father.”
The reunion of the Holocaust survivor and the soldiers who rescued him was a triumph of faith and friendship.
Eddie’s grandson, named Michael after his best friend, visited his Uncle Pepsi many times and was treated to his very fine cooking. In 2016, Pepsi passed away, preceded by his close friends in Company D.
The book’s message comes through loud and clear. Some memories should never be forgotten. Over time the memories become a cautionary tale. We must never forget.
The Boys in the Light by Nina Willner
Published by Penguin Random House, 2025