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What Would Matt Baldacci Do? The Collaborator Mentality Returns

French philosopher, writer and director Bernard-Henri Levy. Photo: Reuters / Benoit Tessier.

JNS.org – Like many Jews of my generation, born during a period when antisemitism was largely depicted as a historical phenomenon and any manifestations were seen as an unfortunate aberration, I would occasionally wonder how the non-Jews in my midst would have behaved during the Holocaust. Would they have stood up to the Nazis, acquiesced to them or even supported them? Would they have expressed disgust at Nazi propaganda or dutifully nodded in agreement? Would they have protected me and my family from deportation, or would they have betrayed us?

Those were, I mused, speculative thought experiments that, thankfully, I would never have to test in the real world. But in 2024, one year after the bestial pogrom wreaked by Hamas terrorists in southern Israel, those same questions belong firmly in the real world. And my suspicion is that many, indeed most, non-Jews would fail these tests of moral and physical courage.

Earlier this month, Melanie Notkin, an author and communications consultant, had the foresight to record a conversation she held with Matt Baldacci, the publisher of Shelf Awareness, a trade title for the bookstore and publishing industry that reaches more than 600,000 readers weekly. Notkin had been helping to promote Israel Alone, the latest book by the French philosopher Bernard-Henri Lévy, which I recently reviewed for this column, and duly purchased an ad in Baldacci’s newsletter for $2,300. But then Baldacci sent her an email informing her that he was canceling the ad, so Notkin scheduled a phone call with him to find out more.

Their conversation was endlessly fascinating and incredibly disturbing. As he told Notkin that the ad had been pulled because the book contains the word “Israel” in the title—potentially triggering bookstore staff or customers with what he would call “pro-Palestinian” but what we properly call pro-Hamas sympathies—Baldacci traversed the spectrum of vocal tones with aplomb, sounding by turns friendly, then unctuous, then impatient, then irritated. At one point, he even indulged in a bit of “mansplaining,” telling Notkin “that’s not actually true or relevant” when she noted that the CEO of his company is Jewish. “Listen, Melanie, Melanie, I hear you,” he interjected, sounding determined to end the conversation as quickly as possible. “I respect everything you’re saying. And as you say, I think that’s all there is to say.”

I don’t know Notkin, but I admired her dignity in carefully listening to Baldacci and eloquently pushing back against his cloying, disingenuous arguments. I don’t know Baldacci either, at least not personally, but I know his type very well.

It’s probably true that most of those who collaborated with the Nazis in Germany and occupied Europe did not do so primarily for ideological reasons but because resistance would have made their daily lives much tougher. I was always taught not to judge these people for not doing the right thing because they feared imprisonment or death, after all. And in the postwar period, there was a discreet acknowledgement among the occupied populations that this had been the case and that history had been kinder to them than was perhaps warranted; in the Netherlands, for example, people would joke that “most Dutch were in the resistance—they just joined after the war.” But that explanation doesn’t serve for someone like Baldacci, who exhibits the telltale traits of a collaborator without the specter of a totalitarian state operating concentration camps hanging over him.

Baldacci is a coward: Someone who, when faced with injustice or rank hypocrisy, rationalizes it and plays its worst aspects down. Someone who doesn’t like to rock the boat. In other words, he is the perfect fit for a collaborator. And so we are forced to ask: If America was suddenly in the grip of totalitarianism, if we had a government that was rounding up Jews in a bid to stop the Jewish conspiracy, if we had a government that criminalized the word “Israel”—a word that is always in the consciousness of Jews and their aspirations and prayers—what would Baldacci do? I know the answer, and I expect readers do, too.

It is the Matt Baldaccis of this world—women and men who are followers and not leaders, who consent to antisemitic agitation without explicitly endorsing it, who stay silent when they need to speak up—who have enabled the current wave of eliminationist antisemitism gripping our country and much of the Western world. Their simpering silence and pathetic fear of angering the mob are precisely what empowers the thugs who shoot at Jews going to synagogue in Chicago or at a Jewish school in Toronto, who gather outside a London conference where the Arab head of the anti-Zionist Communist Party of Israel is speaking to verbally abuse the peace activist Jews in attendance, who push petitions seeking to banish Jews from the worlds of literature, art and music—fields of endeavor that would be indelibly poorer without our contribution!

It is the Matt Baldaccis who have forced Jews, myself among them, to ask whether we grew up in some kind of an illusion, given the routine normalcy with which we historically interacted with non-Jewish friends and colleagues. Because if such people can’t stand up for a Jewish writer like Lévy in a democracy where free speech is part of our national ethos, how should we expect them to behave if the stakes and the costs are much graver? If their fear of the disapproval of the pro-Hamas media and street chorus is so great now, how much greater would it be if this chorus exercised direct political control of our republic?

I hope we never have to find out.

The post What Would Matt Baldacci Do? The Collaborator Mentality Returns first appeared on Algemeiner.com.

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I Graduated UCLA in May; But My Fight for Israel On and Off Campus Has Just Begun

Law enforcement officers clear out a pro-Hamas protest encampment at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA), amid the ongoing conflict between Israel and Hamas, in Los Angeles, California, US, May 2, 2024. Photo: REUTERS/David Swanson

It has been six months since I graduated from UCLA, and my life looks a lot different now than it did as a Bruin.

The shift from being a student — a title that brought me immense pride and purpose — to navigating the uncertainty of a post-grad life has been both freeing and disorienting. This period of uncertainty, paired with the endless opportunities it presents, looms over me daily as I navigate the “figuring-it-out” chapter of my young twenties.

Yet amid the consistent changes and challenges of this transition, I’ve noticed glimpses of an unfamiliar sense of calm. At first, I couldn’t identify its source — it wasn’t as though life after graduation had suddenly become easier. But on the anniversary of October 7 — a day meant solely for grief, honor, and respect — the feeling made sense.

UCLA administrators continue not to enforce the changes they said they’ve made — such as time, place, and manner policies or a Four-Point Plan for a “safer and stronger” community — to conduct on campus, thereby allowing disruptive anti-Israel protests to continue.

However, reading about the Students for Justice in Palestine protest in the news felt starkly different than experiencing it on campus. For the first time in a year, there was a degree of separation between my heartbreak over what my community continues to endure, and the false narratives and blatant antisemitism perpetuated on college campuses.

The chants of “365 days of genocide” and “Israel is a terrorist state” felt no less painful this year, but I wasn’t forced to face them in person.

This distance did not make the commemoration of October 7 any less excruciating, nor does it make the image of 100 hostages continuing to be tortured underground any less vivid. It does not lessen the frustration of watching a preparatory emergency exit video at my temple during the High Holidays, or the anger that political leaders continue to advocate for ceasefires and two-state solutions while Hamas militants are embedded within UNRWA’s school systems.

But not having to worry about being blocked from the library or hearing “From the River to the Sea” echo across campus minutes before taking a final exam has made every day since graduation feel a little bit lighter. I’ve also noticed something else — or, more accurately, the absence of something. What happened to the flurry of social media posts my peers once shared about the campus protests and the ongoing war?

Unfortunately, their silence isn’t due to newfound understanding or engagement with Jewish perspectives; it’s because they no longer feel the pressure of social capital or the need to perform activism for an audience. Since they are no longer students and therefore the issue no longer directly affects them, they no longer need to utilize social media as a way to gain validation in the echo chamber of university life. While it’s been a relief to no longer see these posts, the fact that such harmful narratives were so casually spread and normalized remains deeply troubling.

Just because I am no longer facing anti-Jewish behavior on campus head-on — or seeing my peers’ constant posts — doesn’t indicate in the slightest that the fight is over. For Jews around the world, “Never Forget” means that we must always remember our people’s darkest moments on their darkest days. Our right to defend ourselves is a matter of life and death, not a symbolic gesture to project morality.

The tradition of Hanukkah shows us that it is indeed possible to remain hopeful and resilient, especially when it seems impossible. As the story goes, there was only enough oil to keep the Temple’s menorah burning for one day, but the flame miraculously stayed alight for eight. It is imperative to keep the memory of that miracle alive not only as an ode to our history, but also as a reminder that miracles can happen when we remain committed to being unapologetically Jewish.

Hanukkah means “dedication.” Judah the Maccabee’s fight against the Greek occupation of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem allowed for its rededication, ensuring that Jewish faith and culture would endure. Though I am no longer a college student, I am committed to rededicating my passion for Jewish advocacy.

Whether through writing, my pursuit of a legal education, or engaging with my community, I will continue to use my voice to challenge antisemitism and ensure that the flame of our history and hope burns brighter than ever.

Emily Samuels is a recent graduate of UCLA.

The post I Graduated UCLA in May; But My Fight for Israel On and Off Campus Has Just Begun first appeared on Algemeiner.com.

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Social Studies 2024: Phobe Maltz Bovy’s year in nine big vibe-shifts

What happened in the past 12 months? Rather a lot! So to pare it down, I’m limiting this end-of-year recap to things that kept popping up on my own finite radar, with an emphasis on those with relevance to Jewish Canadians. I will not ask whether I missed anything; assume that I have missed—or skipped over—a ton. These are just a handful of the stories about our society I see as relevant going into 2025 and beyond.

Campus protest culture camps out

The encampment trend that took hold at Columbia University and wound up all over the place—including at numerous Canadian schools—became the big story of 2024 for Jewish media and points beyond, the bold, in-your-face sign that the next generation of cultural elites had made Palestine their cause. Or a sign of something else? Not all the student protesters were students; some were professors, others unaffiliated. And the students not on board with the goings-on were very possibly more likely to demonstrate this by going to class than by organizing a counter-demonstration, although the Jewish professor at least temporarily banned by Columbia showed up at the University of Toronto.

Literary world is purging ‘Zionists’

First, a small magazine called Guernica had a meltdown when an Israeli writer, Joanna Chen, wrote an arguably pro-Palestinian essay, but did so while being, you know, Israeli. Chen had refused to serve in the IDF, but she was still too Zionistic for the pages in question. Next up, author Joshua Leifer tried to do a book event for his Tablets Shattered, but a Brooklyn bookstore employee cancelled it just as it was about to start.

Why was this critical-of-Israel book a problem? The interlocutor was going to be a liberal Zionist and one can’t be having that. The books-and-essays world, once a place where Jewish authors once felt reasonably comfortable in North America, now had spreadsheets identifying authors based on indicators of their relationship to Israel.

Searching for signals of antizionism

Look, Diaspora Jews have gone off Israel! No, wait, they’re all-in on Israel, and that’s why they’re buying guns and going to vote for Donald Trump! But then we learned that Jewish Canadians—like our American counterparts—arevirtually unanimous in the belief that Israel should exist as a Jewish state.

(And in similarly shouldn’t-be-surprising news, American Jewish voters overwhelmingly preferred Kamala Harris.)

Tradwives are totally taking over

The concept went from a niche online subculture to mainstream news and just incessant critical coverage. Tradwife this, tradwife that, all to the bafflement of actual traditionalist brides, Jewish and otherwise, if they were even online enough to notice, that is. A tradwife, for the uninitiated, is a social media influencer who posts content wherein she performs being a gender-role-conforming old-school housewife. She’s in something low-cut and she serves her man, but to own the libs, not (allegedly) to titillate straight men of any which politics.

Challah baking has become political

Some baked it to connect with fellow Jews througn established community channels, while others took, shall we say, a different tack.

Yes, 2024 was the year Chatelaine, a Canadian general-interest women’s magazine, published, then quasi-unpublished, an article about baking challah to free Palestine. In an awkward twist, the personal essayist wore an inverted red triangle in the accompanying author photo. This—combined with the content of the essay in question, an essay that didn’t merely criticize Israel’s response to Oct. 7 (which, fair) but erase the fact that Oct. 7 even happened—suggested that maybe it was one of those red triangles. One gesturing at, perhaps, a spot of friendliness towards Hamas.

War of the sexes (cont’d.)

The latest discourse began with the revelation that young men world over are veering to the right, young women to the left. Had women all gone off men? No. But a bunch gestured at plans to do so once Trump won a second go at the U.S. presidency.

And as someone who recently finished writing a book about straight women (to be published by Signal, an imprint of Penguin Random House Canada), I have been kept plenty busy.

Reviving the concept of ‘shiksa’

Yes, the Netflix series Nobody Wants This offered a heartwarming rom-com treatment of the extremely adorable scenario of a Jewish man finally being spared the ghastliness that is Jewish women when a bubbly blonde comes his way. Can an ambiguously-Reform rabbi date a woman played by Kirsten Bell? In 2024, anything was possible.

The new death of wokeness

Left-wing illiberalism of the sort that brought us cancel culture is officially passé according to enough big thinkers out there.

Wokeness ain’t actually over yet

There’s also enough evidence to suggest ‘woke’ didn’t go anywhere, but rather transformed and migrated. The transformed bit goes like this: In lieu of a series of current things—individual social-justice concerns that were suddenly the only thing that mattered, only to be displaced by a different one five minutes later—there’s now the omnicause. You can plaster your backpack or coffee shop window or social media bio with a potentially endless set of concerns, as long as they all align, omnicausally speaking.

The migrated one: In a sense, there may have been some geographic migration. Maybe you can’t be cancel-cultured in the States as much as was once the case, but in Canada there are still good old-fashioned campaigns to shut down literary magazines for purity-politics reasons. But when I speak of migration, I mean primarily virtual. Twitter begat X, which in turn begat Bluesky. In layman’s terms, a social media platform that had once been the preferred gathering space of journalists, academics, and sui generis social-media pundits ceased serving that function once Elon Musk took over in October 2022, not all at once but in stages. X, what Twitter is now called, because nigh unusable, a pay-to-play scheme wherein right-wing rage-bait rules the day.

So a bunch of old-Twitter’s so-called power users (dubious honour) migrated, no, fled to a Twitter clone called Bluesky. I wrote a less than rave review of it in the Globe and Mail, which caused the Good folks who love love love Bluesky to anoint me main character. I was even parodied by Canada’s persistent cousin to The Onion with the assumption that the readership understood who they were referring to.

Shortly thereafter, everyone mad at me forgot about this, as actually prominent people arrived on Bluesky and became the source of fury that made what I elicited look like small potatoes (or perhaps I mean smol beans).

The CJN’s opinion editor Phoebe Maltz Bovy can be reached at pbovy@thecjn.ca, not to mention @phoebebovy on Bluesky, and @bovymaltz on X. She is also on The CJN’s weekly podcast Bonjour Chai. For more opinions about Jewish culture wars, subscribe to the free Bonjour Chai newsletter on Substack.

The post Social Studies 2024: Phobe Maltz Bovy’s year in nine big vibe-shifts appeared first on The Canadian Jewish News.

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Letter from Jasper: This hanukkiah miraculously survived Alberta’s summer wildfire

Warren Waxer has lived in Jasper, Alta., since 1980. His home, along with 358 others, was destroyed in the wildfire that roared through the town from July 22-24, 2024. Very little survived the intense flames—even his car keys were found melted in the rubble, he told The CJN. But as professional crews scoured the razed house, he writes, they uncovered one treasured object.

Three weeks after the wildfire that swept through Jasper National Park and the townsite, Team Rubicon arrived and got to work. Team Rubicon is a humanitarian group, led by military veterans, that helps clean up after disasters. Wearing hazmat suits and breathing masks, this group safely sifts through the ash and debris—the remains of people’s homes and businesses.

Other than the charred hulks of the furnace, fridge and stove, we couldn’t see much that could be salvaged, and we weren’t far wrong. When you see a couple of shiny metal parallel stripes on the grass where your aluminum ladder once was, you can’t be too hopeful.

The Jasper wildfire of July 2024 destroyed everything in its path, including Warren Waxer’s home.

Each item or partial item that the team recovered would be scrubbed of possible contaminants and was then presented us, the homeowners. We were handed a 35mm camera with the glass lens dripping out the front, shattered bits of marble sculpture, singed bits of pottery, and… wait, what’s that?

Our Hanukkah menorah!

A little worse for wear, listing backwards, missing a couple of nights and the shamash holder, but there it was, proud and defiant. From a fire that destroyed anything made of soft metal, somehow, this menorah lived to celebrate another Hanukkah. 

It had been a bad month realizing that treasured memorabilia and family keepsakes were most likely gone. Looking at the basement that was now filled knee-deep with ash and the charred remains of a two-storey house, it was hard to be optimistic. The fact that the menorah survived has boosted our spirits considerably. It has also boosted the status of this menorah from perfectly serviceable (albeit unremarkable) to treasured family heirloom. Not bad for a small-town menorah.

The menorah that survived the wildfire in Jasper, Alta. (Credit: Warren Waxer)

The post Letter from Jasper: This hanukkiah miraculously survived Alberta’s summer wildfire appeared first on The Canadian Jewish News.

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