Features
What would you do if you found out – at age 34 – that your mother was artificially inseminated, you’re half Ashkenazi Jewish, and you have at least six other siblings?
By BERNIE BELLAN Artificial insemination has been around for a very long time. “The first documented application of artificial insemination in humans was done in London in the 1770s by John Hunter,” says an article from The National Library of Medicine. Sperm banks were first developed in the 1950s.
In the 1970s the University of Manitoba Medical School began an artificial insemination program under the direction of Dr. Jeremy Kredentser.
According to an article in the November 3, 1985 Winnipeg Free Press, “about 100 to 120 couples a year” were being seen in that program, said Dr. Kredentser at the time.
The article went on to explain that “Donor sperm is collected from carefully screened donors such as doctors, medical students and others associated with the U of M.”
Under the rules of that program donors were allowed to submit a maximum of 25 sperm donations – which meant any children who were born as a result of artificial insemination from the program could have quite a few half brothers or sisters.
That program actually was the forerunner of what is now the Heartland Fertility Clinic, where Dr. Kredentser practised and was a director for many years.
But, just as is the case with many individuals who have found out later in life that they were adopted, many individuals who have been fathered by anonymous sperm donors want to know about their actual biological ancestry.
In the past few years, as a result of increasingly sophisticated DNA testing, many of those individuals have been able to discover, not only a great deal of information about their ancestry, but very specific information about relatives about whom they would likely never have known.
Such was the case with one young Winnipeg man, who will be referred to in this article simply as T, not because he insisted on anonymity, but because we wanted to take steps to protect the identities of his siblings and, more importantly, his biological father, whose identity was discovered by T through a process of sleuthing. To this point, T notes, despite his fairly recent attempt to reach out to his biological father, he has not received a response.
We had been made aware of T’s story by a mutual acquaintance. When I heard though that T had discovered he was “49% Ashkenazi Jewish” I thought that his story of discovery might make for a fascinating read – if he was willing to share it.
Not only was T extremely forthcoming in telling me his story, he was eager to have it written about. HIs hope is that his biological father might also become aware of this story and come to the realization that T’s motivation in attempting to make contact with him – as it often is with children who have discovered they have been adopted, is not at all malicious; it is a mixture of curiosity, also a desire to learn whether there are any genetic traits about which they should become aware.
A’s story begins in December 2021. What began largely as a lark turned into something quite unexpected. T explains that he and his wife wanted to take DNA tests – not for any particular reason, simply out of curiosity.
T and his wife decided to register on a site called “23andMe,” where all you have to do is send in a DNA sample (from your saliva) for testing. If someone else who has also registered on the site – and has allowed their identity to be known to individuals who turn out to be related, you will receive a notification that you have matches. (The other very popular site that offers a similar service is Ancestry.com.)
In most cases, as T noted, the results will turn up a slew of distant cousins – possibly some closer cousins, but not much more than that.
However, the story took a very unexpected twist – even before T and his wife got their results back. It was late 2021and T’s mother was over to T’s and his soon-to-be wife’s house. T says he told his mother about the DNA test that he and his wife had taken and explained to her – in a joking way he thought, that “we were gonna make sure we’re not related.”
But, his mother’s reaction took him by surprise, he says. She “showed that she was a little bit agitated.”
T says he wondered whether he was “like, oh God, adopted?”
He continues: “…and then she told me, she divulged that information, she said she was going to tell me sooner than later, but on account of this, you know, the advent of all these DNA kits and stuff, she realized that the writing was on the wall, but you know, when they did it, and …the origins of this, um, fertility company, which was in the mid 80s.” (By “fertility company,” T is referring to the program that had been run at the University of Manitoba Medical School.)
I said to T: “Because in anticipation of what you’re gonna find out, she’s gonna have to break the news after all these years (that she had been artificially inseminated) . Okay. so then how much longer did you have to wait for the results?”
I asked T why his mother had been artificially inseminated? It turns our that her husband – the man T had always believed was his biological father, had had a vasectomy prior to T’s mother marrying him – and T’s mother desperately wanted to have a child.
T explains that the results came back quite quickly – only a month later.
As T describes it, “I’m dying to find out. We’ve rolled the dice here. So we’re waiting to hear what’s going to happen. I don’t know. I had no idea about the Ashkenazi Jewish thing. Back then, I had no idea about any siblings.”
Something else should be explained at this point. T’s mother was married fairly late in life – to a man who had been previously married, and who had two sons from his previous marriage – who are 20 years older than T. As T says, “I was pretty excited because I’ve always wanted, you know, a brother or sister, but my own age.” And here was his chance to discover that he did have another sibling, maybe more than one – much closer to his own age.
The results of A’s DNA test came back from 23andMe with the revelation that T was 49% Ashkenazi Jewish. Further, as T says, “only one sibling is showing, and then like a million cousins. Like, second, second, third, distant cousins at that point.” (It should be explained that not only do 23andMe and Ancestry.com provide names of relatives whose genetic profiles match – at least somewhat, they provide pictures as well.)
But, as T says, the results showed “nobody who looks like me, no names I recognize. And a lot of the distant cousins are presumably on the paternal side. So it’s like a lot of Jewish names in New York.”
Yet, there was a sibling – a half sister (whose name will not be revealed), but who didn’t live in Winnipeg any more. Still, T reached out to her and the half sister revealed to T that she had known since she was 15 that she was the product of artificial insemination, but nothing more than that.
Another year rolls by – it’s now 2022 and suddenly T and his half sister are informed by 23andMe that they have another half brother – who lives in Winnipeg, and who’s a year younger than T.
T and his new half brother connect. As T says, “he’s like 10 minutes away from me…but the weirdest part about this is like, I can’t find any connection with him in Winnipeg, which is weird because we’re lifelong Winnipeggers and it takes, you know how it is, it takes no time at all to find a Winnipeg connection, right?”
But A’s new half brother also tells T and the half sister that he had only recently tried 23andMe because he had been on Ancestry.com – but it hadn’t yielded any close matches. However, in 2023, after the new half brother is introduced to T and the other half sister, the new half brother receives a notification from Ancestry.com that they’ve reviewed his DNA results again – and this time they’ve found three new half sisters – all of whom live in Winnipeg!
It turns out that each of those half sisters had been aware they were the products of artificial insemination. There turns out to be one more half brother – who doesn’t live in Winnipeg – bringing the total of known siblings to seven. As T notes, however, there could be as many as 18 more siblings!
Okay, so now we know T has six siblings, and they’re all 49% Ashkenazi Jewish. How does that lead to T’s discovering who the sperm donor was?
At this point I have to be very careful not to get too specific, out of concern that identities that should remain anonymous are not divulged.
It turns out though that someone else had been on Ancestry.com – but later it emerges that the reason this person would have been on Ancestry.com was that she was a Holocaust survivor, likely looking for long lost relatives who had been separated by World War II.
This woman had reached out to one of T’s half sisters and asks her whether she is a cousin. The half sister responds: “No, I’m your granddaughter.”
Apparently, according to T, finding that out likely “spooked” the Holocaust survivor, and she “ghosted” T’s half sister. T says her “profile disappeared and has not been heard from since.”
(By way of explanation, when Ancestry.com reports a match, it indicates the level of closeness between two individuals. e.g., a parent or a child will be identified as a parent or child; a grandparent, grandchild or sibling will be identified as “immediate family. T’s half sister discovered that she had a paternal grandmother. She didn’t know that this woman was a Holocaust survivor immediately.)
T’s half brother – who had been on both Ancestry.com and 23andMe, did inform T of their paternal grandmother’s name – in 2023. It turns out that the other three half sisters, along with A’s half brother – all of whom had been on Ancestry.com, and who had found each other on Ancestry.com, had also done some digging on their own.
One of the half sisters was told about a book titled “Stories of Winnipeg Holocaust Survivors,” which was compiled by Belle Jarniewski, currently Executive Director of the Jewish Heritage Centre of Western Canada. (At the time Belle was known as Belle Milo, which is the name given on the cover of the book.)
There is a chapter in the book devoted to the story of the Holocaust survivor who had reached out to the half sister. In that chapter the names of the woman’s children are given. It didn’t take too long for that half sister to deduce which of the women’s children would have been the sperm donor. She shared that information with her two other half sisters in Winnipeg – but none of them made any attempt to contact their biological father.
(By the way, once T revealed his paternal grandmother’s name to me I did find some references to her in the Jewish Post archives that are accessible on jewishpostandnews.ca. One of those references included the names of her children. It turns out that I knew one of those children from chlldhood.)
Once T was informed by his half brother in Winnipeg of their paternal grandmother’s name, but without having learned that the three Winnipeg half sisters actually knew who their biological father was, he began his own search online for information about the Holocaust survivor who was their paternal grandmother.
He didn’t turn anything up until he, too, discovered the same book, “Stories of Winnipeg Holocaust Survivors, ” that had been key to one of his half sisters discovering who their biological father was.
As T says, “I found the book online, read it, and I found the (children’s) names. And then I looked up her (son’s name). And after a half an hour I found, like, the timeline for (son’s name).” and the timeline for this particular individual and what he would have been doing in 1985, which is when T’s mother was artificially inseminated, fit perfectly.
T says that once “I figured out who the guy was, I found a picture, and I’m like, okay, this man looks like me, this is the guy, and then once I started connecting with the other sisters, they all confirmed that, in fact, was the guy.”
But, before attempting to reach out to their biological father, T wanted to make sure that each of the other siblings was on board with what he was attempting to do. As he says, “At this point, before I reached out to the donor, I wanted to make sure that I had consent from everybody else.”
A received everyone’s permission and T proceeded to write a hand-written letter to their biological father, which he sent in March 2024. As A says, “I get the guy’s address. And I decide that I, like, I really want to reach out I’m just dying of curiosity. Nobody else has (reached out) yet. I don’t understand why. And I’m like, okay. So I write him a handwritten letter that basically just introduced like who I am and that we understand that we might have a connection to him We’re grateful for him.
“And if he has any interest in contacting us, here’s how we can be contacted But otherwise, we’re not going to bug you. The ball’s in your court. We have no interest in ransacking your life because at the end of the day, we’re all grateful for, you know, what you’ve done for us, and we all have great lives, and thank you, that kind of thing.” To this point T says he has not received any response.
Something I wondered about – and what I’m sure you’re also wondering about, is the revelation that the genetic make-up that T and each of his siblings is carrying is 49% Ashkenazi Jewish. I wondered whether finding that out has made any difference in the lives of T and his siblings?
In fact, the answer – if T and his siblings are truthful, is that it hasn’t made any difference at all. T says he “grew up in the United Church,” but doesn’t consider himself religious. Perhaps somewhat ironically, T says that “half of my friends are Ashkenazi Jewish guys.” In fact, he’s very familiar with Jewish culture and has been to the Shaarey Zedek Synagogue many times. (I should note that the person who put me on to this story is Jewish and has known T for years.)
There are many other twists to T’s story – about how closely connected he is to so many aspects of Jewish life, but again – for the sake of confidentiality I won’t reveal them here. Suffice to say that T could very easily immerse himself into the Jewish community here without missing a beat – if that’s what he chose to do.
As for his siblings – well, that’s a different story. T says that finding out they had Jewish genes seemed more like a matter of curiosity to them than anything particularly important to their sense of identity. One should bear in mind that many of the individuals who go on to sites like Ancestry.com or 23andMe find out very surprising things about their ancestry, but it hardly changes their own concept of who they are.
T, though, looks upon the revelation that he’s half Jewish with a certain sense of bemusement, but also an explanation for some aspects of his own identity. As he says, “I think it makes me more interesting, and honestly, when I look in the mirror, and what I’m seeing is like, my physiology is turning into a frumpy old Jewish man. My dad (or at least the man T thought was his dad and who raised him) is, like, 6’2. My brothers are 6’1; they’re tall.”
T says though that he has “freckles and a skinny Adam’s apple. And I’m, like: ‘Why do I look like any of these (Jewish) guys (who are his friends)? So, anyway, it just, it clicks, it makes a lot more sense for me. It really helps, it helps me kind of make a little… a piece of the whole situation.”
But there are other aspects to T’s past that are more troublesome. He’s had some issues that might have been inherited – as does one of his brothers. T says that “I’d love to just talk to this guy for an hour. See what he’s like, you know, see if he’s musical,” for instance.
I say to T: “I’m not interested in outing him. You know, if he wants to remain anonymous, let him remain anonymous, but maybe he’ll have second thoughts about it. If someone happens to contact him and says, ‘Hey, uh, we read this story or we heard about a story – and it might be you they’re talking about in the story’.” After all, there must have a fair number of men who donated their sperm in that University of Manitoba Medical School program back in the 1970s and 80s. Wouldn’t some of them be curious to learn what the results were from their donations?
Of course, there have been stories about children of women who were artificially inseminated who have gone after the sperm donors. As T concedes, “I kind of assume his reticence kind of lies in that very kind of thing. There’s a whole bunch of Netflix specials that have come out, and there’s some movies over the last ten years, and I’ve watched all of them.”
Still, despite the assurances that men like T’s biological father who donated their sperm may have received that their identities would remain anonymous, advances in genetic testing have shown that those assurances have been made moot. If it were up to me I’d want to own up to my having provided the sperm that ended up helping to produce a child. Otherwise, now that T’s father has received the information that his identity is known to at least seven of the children that he was responsible for fathering, he’s going to have to live with the possibility that one of those children may show up on his doorstep one day.
One final note about this story: T tells me that he and his six known siblings are all on good terms and communicate with one another. In fact, they all had a get-together this past summer where many of them met each other for the first time. I’d have liked to refer to is a reunion – but that would be a misnomer. How about calling it a “kum zeets,” which is the Israeli term for a get together?
Features
A People and a Pulse: Jewish Voices in Jazz and Modern Music
By MARTIN ZEILIG Jazz history is usually told through its most iconic names — Armstrong, Ellington, Parker, Davis — yet running alongside that familiar story is another, often under‑acknowledged one: the deep and enduring contribution of Jewish musicians, bandleaders, composers, and cultural intermediaries.
From the moment jazz emerged at the turn of the 20th century, Jews were not simply observers but active shapers of the music and the industry around it. Their influence — artistic, entrepreneurial, and cultural — has been both significant and, in many respects, disproportionately large. Jews and Jazz (171 pg. $18.75 US) a self‑published work by Laurence Seeff, brings this parallel narrative into sharp, affectionate focus.
Seeff is an ideal guide.
Born in London in 1951, he built a career that moved from statistics to energy policy in Paris, from financial markets at Bloomberg to corporate training in the City of London, all while writing poetry, songs, and humorous verse. Today he lives in Israel, where he continues to write, perform, learn Ivrit, and enjoy life with his large family. Through all these chapters runs a constant passion for jazz — a passion sparked more than fifty‑five years ago when he first heard Terry Lightfoot’s Jazzmen in a Bournemouth pub.
His writing blends clarity, humour, and genuine love for the music and the people who made it.
The musicians he profiles often came from immigrant families who brought with them the musical DNA of Eastern Europe — the cadences of synagogue chant, the urgency of klezmer, the cultural instinct for learning and artistic expression. When these sensibilities met the African American genius of early jazz, the result was a remarkable creative fusion.
Some figures, like Chico Marx, are better known for comedy than musicianship, yet Seeff reminds us that Chico was a serious pianist whose jazz‑inflected playing appeared in every Marx Brothers film and whose orchestra launched young talents like Mel Tormé. Others — Abe Lyman, Lew Stone, and Oscar Rabin — shaped the dance‑band era on both sides of the Atlantic.
Canadian readers will be pleased to find Morris “Moe” Koffman included as well: the Toronto‑born flautist and saxophonist whose “Swinging Shepherd Blues” became an international hit and whose long career at the CBC helped define Canadian jazz.
Seeff also highlights artists whose connection to jazz is more tangential but culturally revealing. Barbra Streisand, for example — a classmate and choir‑mate of Neil Diamond at Erasmus Hall High School — was never a natural jazz singer, yet her versatility allowed her to step into the idiom when she chose.
She opened for Miles Davis at the Village Vanguard in 1961 and, nearly half a century later, returned to the same club to promote Love Is the Answer, her collaboration with jazz pianist Diana Krall. Her contribution to jazz may be limited, but her stature as one of the greatest singers of all time is unquestioned.
Neil Diamond, too, appears in these pages.
Though not a jazz artist, he starred — with gusto, if not great acting finesse — in the 1980 remake of The Jazz Singer, 53 years after Al Jolson’s original. The film was not a success, nor was it truly a jazz picture, but its title and its star’s Jewish identity make it part of the cultural tapestry Seeff explores.
Diamond and Streisand recorded together only once, in 1978, on “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers,” a reminder of the long‑standing artistic ties between them.
Mel Tormé, by contrast, was deeply rooted in jazz. Nicknamed “The Velvet Fog,” he was a prodigy who sang professionally at age four, wrote his first hit at sixteen, drummed for Chico Marx, and recorded with Benny Goodman and Artie Shaw. Ethel Waters once said he was “the only white man who sings with the soul of a black man.” His story exemplifies the porous, collaborative nature of jazz.
Seeff also includes non‑Jewish figures whose lives intersected meaningfully with Jewish culture. Frank Sinatra — perhaps the greatest crooner of them all — was a steadfast supporter of Jewish causes, from protesting during the Holocaust to raising funds for Israel Bonds and the Hebrew University. His multiple visits to Israel, including a major concert in Jerusalem in 1975, underscore the depth of his connection.
Danny Kaye earns his place through his close work with Louis Armstrong, his pitch‑perfect scat singing, and his starring role in The Five Pennies, the biopic of jazz cornetist Red Nichols. Though not a jazz musician per se, his performances radiated a genuine feel for the music.
A later generation is represented by Harry Connick Jr., whose Jewish mother and New Orleans upbringing placed him at the crossroads of cultures. A prodigy who played publicly at age five, he went on to become one of the most successful jazz‑influenced vocalists of his era, with ten number‑one jazz albums.
Even Bob Dylan appears in Seeff’s mosaic — another reminder that Jewish creativity has touched every corner of modern music, sometimes directly through jazz, sometimes through the broader cultural currents that surround it.
Taken together, the concise portraits in Jews and Jazz form a lively, engaging mosaic — a celebration of creativity, resilience, and cross‑cultural exchange. They show how Jewish musicians helped carry jazz from vaudeville and dance halls into swing, bebop, cool jazz, pop, rock, and film music.
They remind us that jazz, at its heart, is a meeting place: a space where people of different backgrounds listen to one another, learn from one another, and create something larger than themselves.
For further information, contact the author at the following email address: laurenceseeff@yahoo.co.uk
Features
Jews in Strange Places
By DAVID TOPPER The Jewish contribution to 20th century popular music is well known. From Jerome Kern through to Stephen Sondheim, Jews played major roles as both composers and lyricists in the so-called Great American Songbook. (An exception is Cole Porter.) It continued in Musical Theatre throughout the rest of the century.
One very small piece of this story involves what Time magazine in the December 1999 issue called “the tune of the century.” First recorded sixty years before that, it is the powerful and haunting tune called “Strange Fruit,” which is about the lynching of black people in the southern USA. First sung by Billie Holiday in 1939, it became her signature tune.
So, why do I bring this up? Because there is a multi-layered Jewish connection to this song that is worth recalling, which may not be known to many readers.
Let’s start with the lyrics to “Strange Fruit,” which are the essence of this powerful piece:
Southern trees bear strange fruit,Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.Pastoral scene of the gallant south,The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,Here is a strange and bitter crop.
Before becoming lyrics in a song, this poem stood alone as a potent statement about the lynchings still taking place throughout the American South at the time. The strong metaphorical imagery never explicitly mentions the lynching, which adds to the poetic power of this poem. Standing alone, I believe it’s an important protest verse from the 20th century.
Searching it on the internet, you may find the author listed as Lewis Allan. But that’s not his real name. “Lewis Allen” is the often-used pen name of Abel Meeropol, a Jewish High School teacher from the Bronx in New York. He and his wife, Anne (nee Shaffer), had two stillborn children with those names – a fact that adds a poignant element to this story.
The origin of the poem for Abel was a photograph he had seen of a lynching of black men in the South. I have seen such images, possibly even the one Abel saw: for example, a sepia photograph of two black men hanging from a long tree limb, and a large crowd of white people below (men, women and even children!), most seeming dressed in their Sunday best (some men with straw hats) looking up and gawking at the sight, some with smiles on their faces – as if attending a festive spectacle. Like Abel, I felt repelled by the picture: it turned my stomach. This communal display of horrific cruelty gave me a glimpse into Abel’s mind, and I understood how it compelled him to write about it. He thus wrote the poem, and it was published in a teacher’s magazine in 1937.
Being a songwriter too, in 1938 Abel added a melody and played it in a New York club he often attended. But here’s where this story’s documentation gets contradictory, depending upon who is recalling the events. The club owner knew Billie Holiday, and he showed the song to her. What her initial response was, we cannot know for sure. But we do know that in a relatively short time, she added it to her repertoire. It eventually became her signature tune. She initially sang it in public, but because of its popularity among her fans, there was pressure to record it too.
There were initial rejections from recording companies because of the controversial content. But Commodore Records took a chance and pressed the first recording in April 1939. This was the same year the movie “Gone with the Wind” came out; it was steeped in racial stereotyping. It was also sixteen years before Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on a bus in Montgomery, Alabama.
As a record, the song obviously reached a large audience. Since the content was about racism, the song was seen as politically radical; not surprisingly, many radio stations banned it from the airwaves.
Furthermore, it’s also not surprising that Abel, a schoolteacher, was called to appear before a committee of New York lawmakers who were looking for communists in the schools. Possibly they were surprised to find that the poem and the song were written by a white man – and a Jew to boot. In particular, they wanted to know if he was paid by the Communist Party to write this song. He was not. And, in the end, they let him go. But shortly thereafter he quit his teaching job.
This took place in 1941 and was a precursor to the continued American obsession with communism into the 1950s, under Senator Joe McCarthy.
Indeed, that episode had an impact on Abel and Anne too. In 1953 Julius and Ethel Rosenberg were convicted of giving information about nuclear science to the Soviet Union, and they were the first married couple to be executed in the electric chair. They left two sons, Michael (age 10) and Robert (age 6). Apparently, immediate family members were reticent to get involved with the boys, possibly afraid of being accused of sympathizing with communism.
Enter Abel and Anne. Without a moment’s hesitation they stepped in, taking and raising the boys. As Michael and Robert Meeropol they eventually went on to become college professors – and naturally were active in social issues. Anne died in 1973. Abel died in 1986 in a Jewish nursing home in Massachusetts, after a slow decline into dementia. Long before that, Billie Holiday died in 1959, ravaged by the drug addition that took her life at forty-four years of age.
See why I called this a multi-layered Jewish story that’s worth telling?
To hear Billie Holiday singing “Strange Fruit” click here: Strange Fruit
Features
Is This the End of Jewish Life in Western Countries?
By HENRY SREBRNIK “Globalize the Intifada” has been the chant echoing through streets since October 7th, 2023. It was never a metaphor, and we now see the gruesome results across the western world, from Australia to Canada: the rise of groups of large, active networks of Islamist and anti-Zionist organizations.
Jews in the West are discovering that the nations they defended, enriched, and profoundly shaped have become increasingly inhospitable. After the Holocaust, explicit Jew-hatred became unfashionable in polite society, but the impulse never disappeared. The workaround was simple: separate Zionism from Judaism in name, then recycle every old anti-Jewish trope and pin it on “the Zionists.”
We have seen the full legitimization of genocidal anti-Zionism and its enthusiastic adoption by large segments of the public. The protests themselves, as they began immediately on October 7th, were celebrations of the Hamas massacres. The encampments, the building occupations, the harassment campaigns against Jewish students, the open calls for intifada, the attacks on Jews and Jewish places have become our new norm. History shows us that antisemitism does not respond to reason, incentive or the honest appeals of the Jewish community.
Outside the United States, there is no Western political establishment with either the will or the capability to address this problem, let alone reverse its growth. I’m sorry to say this, but the future of Western Europe, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand is likely to be increasingly Jew-free.
Today, police stand and watch mobs chant for Israel’s destruction, call for the genocide of its people, harass visibly Jewish citizens, and drive antisemitic intimidation deep into urban life. They now believe their job is to enforce the law only if it does not risk upsetting violent constituencies. This makes Jews expendable, because defending them risks confrontation. This was very clear in the Bondi Beach massacre.
Jews are again donning caps instead of kippot, dressing generically with no cultural markers, and avoiding even a tote bag with Hebrew on it. A corrosive creep toward informal segregation in retail and service sectors is occurring, as Jewish customers report being refused service. A mezuzah hanging from a rideshare mirror leads to cancellations. When Jews express frustration, they are accused of exaggeration or attempting to suppress criticism of Israel. Jewish fear is not treated as a real problem.
“Jews Are Being Sent Back into Hiding,” the title of a Dec. 15 article in the New York Free Press by David Wolpe and Deborah Lipstadt, asserts that the attacks on Jews, including physical assaults, social media campaigns and, most tragically, the recent murders in Australia, are part of a purposive campaign designed to make Jews think twice about gathering with other Jews, entering a synagogue, going to kosher restaurants, putting a mezuzah on the doorpost of their apartments or dorm rooms, or wearing a Jewish star around their necks.
“We know of no one who would consider giving a niece, nephew, grandchild, or young friend a Jewish star without first asking permission of their parents,” they write. The unspoken, and sometimes spoken, question is: “Might wearing a star endanger your child’s well-being?”
Recently, a prominent American rabbi was entering a Target store in Chicago with her grandson, whom she had picked up from his Jewish day school. As they walked into the store the 10-year-old reached up and automatically took off his kippah and put it in his pocket. Seeing his grandmother’s quizzical look, he explained: “Mommy wants me to do that.”
Borrowing a phrase from another form of bigotry, they contend that Jews are going “back into the closet.” No public celebration of Hanukkah took place in 2025 without a significant police presence. Some people chose to stay home.
Lipstadt and Wolpe know whereof they speak. They are respectively a professor of history and Holocaust studies who served as the Biden administration’s ambassador tasked with combating antisemitism, the other a rabbi who travels to Jewish communities throughout the world, and who served on Harvard’s antisemitism task force in the aftermath of the October 7, 2023 pogrom.
What the world has seen over the past two years is a continual, often systematic attempt to terrorize Jews. When political leaders fail to condemn rather than merely “discourage” chants of “globalize the intifada,” we are seeding the ground for massacres like the Hannukah one in Sydney.
If each Jewish holiday will now be seen by antisemites as an opportunity for terror, then the prognosis for diaspora Jewry is bleak. There will be fewer public events, more alarms, more bag checks at doors; there will have to be more security and more police. Unless things change, Jewish life in the diaspora will become more sealed off from the larger society.
Why has this failure come about? Confronting antisemitism, stopping the mobs, challenging the activists, and disciplining antisemitic bureaucrats all carry electoral risk for politicians; Jews are demographically irrelevant, especially compared with Muslim voters, with the U.S. being the only partial exception.
There are those who suggest Jews stop donating funds to educational and other institutions that have turned against us. At this point, I doubt very much that withdrawing dollars will have an impact. For every dollar withdrawn, there will be 100 from Qatar and other sources in its place.
Throughout history, the way a society treats its Jews predicts its future with unerring accuracy. If Jews leave, it will be because a civilization that will not defend its Jews will also defend next to nothing and may itself not survive.
Henry Srebrnik is a professor of political science at the University of Prince Edward Island