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Commemorating Philip Roth means confronting his limitations head on
(JTA) — Next Sunday marks the 90th anniversary of Philip Roth’s birth. In celebration of the famed novelist’s work, a scholarly conference titled “Roth@90,” sponsored by the Philip Roth Society, will be held starting Wednesday at the Newark Public Library. That will be followed by a weekend of high-profile events — staged readings, panel discussions, a bus tour of Roth’s old Newark neighborhood — co-presented by the library and the New Jersey Performing Arts Center.
Exactly 10 years ago, we commemorated his 80th birthday in a similar fashion. Dozens of Roth scholars made learned presentations about his work, of which Roth attended exactly zero. Later that week, the author read aloud from his novel “Sabbath’s Theater” in front of hundreds of fans, friends and well wishers. The proceedings were televised on C-Span.
Roth was being acclaimed for having just wound down an exemplary career. With the exception of the Nobel Prize, what garland evaded him? Was there a high-culture literary platform where his name wasn’t a virtual watermark? Could he publish any novel without hundreds of reviews being written in newspapers across the world? Was there a serious fiction writer out there with greater renown?
So much has changed in the decade between the two conferences. To begin with, Roth died in 2018. In that same span, the country witnessed the election of Donald Trump and the fissure it exposed in society in general and the Jewish community in particular. America endured one convulsive racial reckoning after another. Finally, in October of 2017, the #MeToo movement gained massive public salience.
All of those events, along with digital media’s indomitable ascent, have combined to affect and reshape Roth’s literary legacy. That legacy is far less assured than all the (justified) praise and lionizing that will occur this week might suggest.
Let’s start with Jews. The Trump era yielded two seemingly irreconcilable data points. On the one hand, Jewish-Americans endured the Charlottesville riot, the Tree of Life synagogue attack and a stunning rise in antisemitic incidents. On the other, there was staunch support for Trump among Orthodox Jews and supporters of Israel’s right wing.
Leaving that conundrum for others to parse, I simply note that Orthodox Jews and right-wing Zionists are almost completely absent in Roth’s fiction. A young Roth wrote a sensitive portrait of Holocaust survivors who want to start a suburban yeshiva in “Eli the Fanatic.” He also sketched a militant religious-nationalist Zionist in “The Counterlife,” Mordecai Lippman, who, according to Roth biographer Blake Bailey (about whom more below), was based on Elyakim Haetzni, one of the so-called founding fathers of the settlement movement. In the same novel, a version of the narrator’s brother falls under the settlement leader’s sway.
And that’s it, across a half century of writing. For traditionalist Jewish readers, whose political and social influence in the United States and Israel is substantial and growing, Roth’s fiction is not a mirror, nor a signpost, nor a scroll upon which is inscribed some essential truth.
The Jews who populated his stories, the Jews he best understood, were of Ashkenazi descent, white, liberal, assimilated and secular. His courage was to valorize them over and against other Jews who viewed them as defective, lost or even as apostates. Thus Anne Frank in “The Ghost Writer” was portrayed as a patron saint of secular Judaism. Elsewhere, his stories abound in proud, professionally accomplished diaspora Jews. They rarely think about God. Synagogue attendance is reserved strictly for lifecycle events and High Holy Days, if that.
A novelist, of course, is not a political clairvoyant. However, the immediate future of Judaism is being greatly shaped by Jews whose population and influence are growing and whom Roth rarely portrayed. In this manner, another stellar writer like Cynthia Ozick — herself Orthodox and quite attuned to the mindset of her co-religionists — might fare better commercially and emerge as more relevant than her friend in the coming decades.
Roth didn’t just write about Jews. In my book “The Philip Roth We Don’t Know: Sex, Race and Autobiography,” I pointed out that depicting non-Jewish Black people was an unrecognized “obsessional theme” across his 28 novels and 25 short stories. Much to my dismay, I found Roth’s multi-decade treatment of his African and African-American characters often to be crude, thoughtless and sometimes racist.
Familiarize yourself with the degrading portraiture we receive of Black people in “The Great American Novel” (1973), or a short story like “On the Air” (1970), and you might reconsider what Roth was after in “The Human Stain,” in which an academic who is accused of racism turns out to be an African American who had been “passing” as white and Jewish. The book, the 2001 Pen/Faulkner Award winner, is often seen as a sensitive treatment of racial issues in America, and perhaps as the author’s attempt to extend the hand of friendship to another oppressed minority.
In fact, my best guess is that, as with many Jewish writers post-1967, Roth was shaken by the deterioration of the Black-Jewish alliance. His frustrations were reflected in prose that often referenced Black communities in his hometown of Newark but showed little curiosity about their lives or sympathy for their plight.
Obviously, this type of literary rendering of African Americans — or any minority group — is disturbing and dated. Insensitive racial representation inspires calls for publishers to drop authors. They disappear from high-school or college syllabi. This bodes ominously for the afterlives of the titans of post-World War II American fiction, including John Updike, Saul Bellow Bellow and Norman Mailer, all three of whom have been accused of being racially insensitive and worse.
Roth’s marketability also seems to be sailing into a squall regarding gender. As women began demanding an accounting of sexual abuse and misogyny within the media, entertainment and other industries, numerous think-pieces wondered how the author of “Portnoy’s Complaint” — whose libidinous narrator identifies most of the women in his life by debasing nicknames — would fare in such an environment. Would he — should he — be “canceled”?
The question is more complex than his admirers and detractors make it out to be. No doubt, many of Roth’s male characters mistreated women. Accusations of Roth himself doing the same exist, but they are fairly rare, unsubstantiated and contested. The dilemma for researchers is that Roth was a deeply auto-fictional writer. You sense his presence in his stories — especially when protagonists share much of his biography, including Nathan Zuckerman and Peter Tarnopol, and when characters are named “Philip Roth.”
It’s hard not to speculate about the relation between the author and the many misogynistic fellows who cut an erotic swath through his pages. There will, of course, be readers who give him the benefit of the doubt. They might observe that Roth’s toxic males provide evidence of women’s experiences that needs to be explored, not censored.
Not helping him cleanse his reputation were the numerous allegations of sexual misconduct leveled against his hand-picked biographer, Blake Bailey. The ructions engulfing Bailey came to dominate the discourse about Roth, leading to a peculiar cancellation by proxy.
The episode also revealed that Roth had instructed his estate to eventually destroy a massive trove of personal papers he entrusted to Bailey. This led Aimee Pozorski (co-editor of Philip Roth Studies), myself and 20 other Roth scholars to issue a statement reminding his executors that “scholarship can only be advanced when qualified researchers engage freely with essential sources.”
As if all these concerns weren’t enough, his grim prophecies about the demise of an audience for serious literature seem to be coming true. “The book,” Roth worried, “can’t compete with the screen.” Meanwhile, the English major is in a very bad way, and the institution of tenure is under siege. Professors (insufferable as we might be) teach the next generation who to read and how to read. Writers might not like them, but they need them.
Roth is also getting the scrutiny that he was at pains to avoid in his lifetime. His disregard for scholars who might be critical of him always struck me, one such scholar, as misguided. Instead, he surrounded himself with friends — friends who had preternatural access to major media platforms. These friends built upon his own interpretations of his own work. It doesn’t mean they lacked wisdom. It just means that when they talked about Roth, they talked about what Roth wanted them to talk about. To wit: Jewish Newark, his sundry interpretations of his life, his pesky ex-wives and lovers, the close-mindedness of his critics, and so forth.
I think, in this cultural moment, it’s prudent to confront Roth’s limitations head on and chart one’s own path through his fiction. I pitch him to my students as a writer with some racial, religious and sexual hang-ups — who among us is innocent of those charges? I also present him as a bearer of unique and meaningful insights. Let scholars (while they still exist) parade those insights into sunlight.
I’ve tried to illuminate that his fiction was preoccupied, for 50 years, by how individual and collective bodies (like the Jews) change. Transformation, metamorphosis, metempsychosis — his obsession with those themes, I’ve noticed in my classrooms, is shared by Gen Z. If the span between Roth@80 and Roth@90 has taught us anything, it is that Roth was right: Life is about radical, unpredictable flux. Now his own legacy is in flux. I wonder who will read Roth@100.
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Bondi Gunmen Acted Alone, No Evidence They Were Part of Terrorist Cell, Australian Police Say
A CCTV footage shows Naveed Akram and his father, Sajid Akram, both suspects in the shooting attack during a Jewish Hanukkah celebration at Bondi Beach on Dec. 14, carrying items wrapped in blankets, while exiting 103 Brighton Avenue, Campsie, New South Wales, Australia, in this still image taken from a court document released on Dec. 22, 2025. Photo: NSW Police/Handout via REUTERS
Two gunmen who allegedly opened fire on a Jewish celebration on Sydney’s Bondi Beach earlier this month acted alone and there was “no evidence” they were part of a terrorist cell, police said on Tuesday.
Naveed Akram and his father Sajid Akram are alleged to have killed 15 people at a Hanukkah event on Dec. 14, Australia’s worst mass shooting in almost three decades that shocked the nation and led to immediate reforms of already strict gun laws.
Police have previously said the men were inspired by Islamic State, with homemade flags of the terrorist group found in their car after the attack, and a month-long trip by the pair to a Philippines island previously plagued by militancy a major focus of investigation.
But on Tuesday, Australian Federal Police Commissioner Krissy Barrett said there was no indication the men had received formal training on the November trip to Mindanao in the Philippines.
“There is no evidence to suggest these alleged offenders were part of a broader terrorist cell, or were directed by others to carry out an attack,” Barrett told a news conference.
She added the findings were an initial assessment, and authorities in Australia and the Philippines were continuing their investigation.
“I am not suggesting that they were there for tourism,” she said, referring to the Philippines trip.
Sajid Akram was shot dead by police during the attack, while his son Naveed, who was also shot by police, was charged with 59 offenses after waking from a days-long coma earlier this month. Naveed Akram faces charges ranging from 15 counts of murder to terror and explosives offenses.
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The ‘Zombie’ Caliphate: While the World Celebrates the Muslim Brotherhood’s Demise, Its Billion-Dollar Empire Thrives in Plain Sight
Supporters of the Muslim Brotherhood in the Jordanian capital, Amman, chanting pro-Palestinian slogans in April 2018. Photo: Reuters / Muhammad Hamed.
In Washington and Arab capitals, a comforting narrative has taken hold: The Muslim Brotherhood is finished. We are told that the Sisi regime in Egypt has crushed them, that Jordan has shuttered their offices, and that the “Islamist Winter” is finally over. The recent executive order by President Trump to review the group for terror designation is seen as the final nail in the coffin.
But if you look away from the empty political offices and follow the money, you will find a terrifying reality. The Muslim Brotherhood hasn’t gone bankrupt; it has simply gone corporate.
While Western intelligence agencies applaud the closure of dusty headquarters in Amman, they are ignoring the €27 million mega-complexes rising in France, the €4 million real estate fortresses in Berlin, and the terror-linked holding companies trading openly on the Istanbul Stock Exchange. The Brotherhood has transformed from a mass movement into a transnational financial conglomerate — a “Zombie Caliphate” that is legally bulletproof and wealthier than ever.
The Egyptian “Catch-and-Release”
The myth of the Brotherhood’s destruction starts in Egypt. The regime’s “Inventory Committee” boasts of seizing assets worth a staggering 300 billion EGP (approx. $16.7 billion), and liquidating the schools, hospitals, and businesses that formed the movement’s spine.
But the crackdown is porous. In July 2023, an Egyptian court quietly ordered the unfreezing of assets for 146 alleged Brotherhood figures, ruling that the state failed to prove the funds were illicit. This legal “oops” likely allowed millions in liquid capital to flee the country, funneling straight into the offshore networks now appearing in Istanbul and London.
Then there is the case of Safwan Thabet, the tycoon behind Juhayna Food Industries. Arrested for refusing to hand over his empire to the state, he was released in 2023. His survival teaches a harsh lesson: the Brotherhood’s money is so deeply integrated into the legitimate economy that the state cannot tear it out without killing the patient. The “deep state” of Brotherhood finance remains alive, hiding behind the facade of legitimate dairy giants and retail chains.
Turkey: The NATO Safe Haven for Terror Finance
If Egypt is the extraction point, Turkey is the laundromat. Despite President Erdogan’s desperate diplomatic pivot toward Cairo, Istanbul remains the operational heartbeat of this financial insurgency.
Western policymakers need to look closely at the Borsa Istanbul. There, trading openly under the ticker TDGYO, is Trend GYO — a real estate investment trust designated by the US Treasury Department for being 75% owned by Hamas. In a rational world, a NATO member would not host a publicly traded company that funds a designated terror group. In Erdogan’s Turkey, however, Trend GYO continues to develop luxury apartments, such as the recent project in Istanbul’s Alibeyköy district, subcontracting construction to obscure local firms to wash the proceeds.
This is the new model: “Terrorism Inc.” Yemeni billionaire Hamid al-Ahmar, operating freely from Istanbul, chairs Investrade Portfoy, an investment firm that commingles legitimate business with funds allegedly destined for Hamas. Meanwhile, the Brotherhood’s elite send their children to Al-Nahda International Schools in Istanbul — private institutions run by exiled cadres that ensure the next generation is indoctrinated in the ideology of the “Group” while generating tuition revenue.
Europe: The “Concrete” Fortress
As the environment in the Middle East becomes hostile, the Brotherhood has executed a strategic pivot to Europe, replacing “liquid” assets (cash) with “fixed” assets (real estate) protected by Western property laws.
In Austria, the failure of “Operation Luxor” serves as a cautionary tale. In 2020, police raided 60 Brotherhood-linked sites. The result? Zero terrorism convictions. Courts declared the raids unlawful. The Brotherhood didn’t just survive; they lawyered up and won, proving that without a specific designation, European criminal law cannot work against them.
In Germany, the UK-based Europe Trust purchased a massive property in Berlin’s Wedding district for €4 million. This isn’t just a building; it is a command center for the Deutsche Muslimische Gemeinschaft (DMG), insulated from German intelligence by British corporate deeds.
In France, the situation is even more brazen. The Al-Noor Center in Mulhouse — a massive complex featuring a mosque, school, and swimming pool — was built at a cost of €27 million. Intelligence links it to Qatar Charity’s “Ghaith Initiative,” which has poured over €120 million into 140 such projects across Europe. These are not community centers; they are forward operating bases for a parallel society, subsidized by Doha and protected by European property rights.
The West is fighting a 21st-century financial empire with 20th-century police tactics. We raid homes in Vienna while they move crypto in Istanbul. We seize crumbling offices in Jordan while they buy prime real estate in Berlin.
The Muslim Brotherhood is not dead. It is alive, well, and trading on the Istanbul Stock Exchange. Until the US and its allies target the enablers — the Turkish banks clearing Trend GYO transactions, the Qatari transfers to Mulhouse, and the shell companies in London — we are merely cutting the grass while the roots grow deeper.
Amine Ayoub, a fellow at the Middle East Forum, is a policy analyst and writer based in Morocco. Follow him on X: @amineayoubx
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The US Coast Guard Keeps Trying to Loosen Restrictions on Swastikas — Have We Passed a Point of No Return?
People waving Nazi swastika flags argue with conservatives during a protest outside the Tampa Convention Center, where Turning Point USA’s (TPUSA) Student Action Summit (SAS) was being held, in Tampa, Florida, US July 23, 2022. Photo: REUTERS/Marco Bello
It is hard to describe the insanity of what the US Coast Guard just did — or nearly did — without sounding alarmist. But alarm is warranted.
In a quiet, internal policy change, the Coast Guard downgraded swastikas and nooses from explicit hate symbols to what it blandly called “potentially divisive” imagery. Not in a press release. Not after consultation with Jewish or civil-rights groups. Quietly. Bureaucratically. Almost accidentally — until reporters noticed.
Only after Jewish organizations, veterans’ groups, and US senators demanded answers did the Coast Guard scramble to reverse course, insisting all along that nothing had really changed.
Then the Coast Guard tried to do this a second time. Once again, the plan was exposed, and the Coast Guard reversed course. But no one in the administration condemned it.
It seems clear that something has fundamentally changed.
A swastika is not “potentially divisive.”
A noose is not “context dependent.”
They are not ambiguous. They are not debatable. They are among the clearest symbols of hatred in human history — shorthand for genocide, terror, and racial violence. The fact that a uniformed US service sought to allow these symbols on government property in some contexts should disturb every American.
Semantic Cowardice Disguised as Neutrality
The Coast Guard’s revised guidance did not outright permit swastikas in all cases — but it said there should be nuance in deciding when one could be displayed. And it did something extremely corrosive: it reframed them.
By categorizing swastikas and nooses as “potentially divisive imagery,” the policy stripped them of their categorical moral status. Under the new language, commanding officers might intervene. Or they might not. Everything depended on context, interpretation, discretion.
That is not how institutions fight hatred. That is how they avoid responsibility.
Words matter in bureaucracies. Classification determines enforcement. Once something moves from “prohibited hate symbol” to “potentially divisive,” the burden shifts — from the institution to the offended party, from clarity to contestation, from principle to process.
For Jews, the swastika is not merely offensive; it is existential. It is the emblem under which six million Jews were murdered — grandparents, children, entire communities erased. It is not reclaimed. It is not misunderstood. It is not ambiguous.
Calling it “potentially divisive” is not neutral language. It is moral minimization.
The Gaslighting That Followed
What made this episode worse was not just the policy change — but the response to criticism.
Jewish leaders were told, repeatedly, that no downgrade had occurred. That the Coast Guard maintained a zero-tolerance stance. That reports suggesting otherwise were mistaken.
And yet the language was there, in black and white.
When Jewish organizations pointed this out, the reaction was not contrition but deflection. When senators demanded answers, the response was confusion. Only once political pressure became unavoidable did the Coast Guard and the Department of Homeland Security quietly remove the offending language — while still insisting there had never been a problem. And then they tried to do the same thing again!
This is institutional gaslighting.
If nothing changed, why was the language altered?
If the policy was always clear, why did it need “clarification”?
If leadership opposed the downgrade, how did it happen on their watch?
Institutions erode trust not only through bad decisions, but through evasive ones.
Why This Keeps Happening
It would be comforting to chalk this up to ideology — to blame wokeness, antisemitism, or a rogue staffer. But that explanation is too simple, and therefore too comforting.
What actually happened here is more unsettling.
This is what happens when institutions treat offense as a liability to be managed rather than evil as something to be condemned.
In modern bureaucracies, the overriding imperative is not truth or justice but risk mitigation. The goal is to avoid complaints, minimize exposure, and keep controversies from escalating. When everything is framed as “potentially divisive,” nothing is clearly wrong.
Accountability Matters — and Someone Approved This
Policies do not downgrade themselves.
Someone wrote that language. Someone reviewed it. Someone approved it. And someone allowed Jewish groups to be told one thing while the written policy said another.
This is not about vengeance or scapegoating. It is about governance.
Public trust depends on knowing that decisions with moral consequences are made deliberately, transparently, and honestly. When leadership cannot explain how such a change occurred — or insists it never occurred at all — confidence erodes further.
If Federal agencies want credibility when confronting antisemitism, they must show that internal processes match public assurances. Anything less invites suspicion that moral clarity exists only when politically convenient.
Why Jews Are Right to Be Alarmed
Some will say this controversy is overblown — that the policy was technical, that no harm was intended, that the reversal proves the system works.
That response misunderstands the moment.
American Jews are living through a historic surge in antisemitism — on campuses, in cities, online, and increasingly in physical space. Swastikas are not abstractions. They appear on synagogues, playgrounds, dormitories, and subway cars. They are not rare provocations; they are routine intimidation.
In that environment, government institutions do not get the luxury of ambiguity.
When a uniformed service wavers on whether a swastika is unequivocally a hate symbol, Jews hear a message — even if unintended: your history is negotiable; your fear is contextual; your dignity depends on discretion.
For Jews, this is not symbolic politics. It is the language of survival.
This episode does not stand alone. It fits a pattern Jews now recognize with grim familiarity — from college campuses to the streets of major American cities.
History’s lesson is not that hatred begins with shouting. It begins with hedging that is tolerated quietly, normalized bureaucratically, and explained away procedurally until institutions discover they no longer know how to draw lines at all.
And when that happens, Jews are never the only ones at risk — just the first to notice.
Every Federal agency should be required — explicitly and publicly — to designate genocidal and terror symbols as categorically prohibited, without modifiers, caveats, or discretion. No euphemisms. No contextual hedging. No bureaucratic laundering of moral truth.
Moral clarity is not extremism. It is the minimum requirement of authority.
A swastika is not a misunderstanding. It is not “potentially divisive.” It is a warning.
And any institution that hesitates to say so is warning us, too.
Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.