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LGBTQ Israelis fear setbacks as homophobic parties win a place in Netanyahu’s coalition
TEL AVIV and JERUSALEM (JTA) — It was the day before Israel’s Nov. 1 election. In a classroom in downtown Jerusalem, Avi Rose was teaching about Jewish identity through art to a group of Jewish students from abroad spending a gap year in Israel. Suddenly, movement outside caught his eye.
Rose stopped his lecture and approached the second-story window. He was unprepared for what he saw. Dozens of religious Jewish youth from the homophobic Noam party were marching down Jerusalem’s Jaffa Street, chanting and carrying large anti-LGBTQ signs.
The sight was distressing for Rose, a gay Israeli artist who emigrated from Canada 20 years ago. In 2007, he and his husband, Ben, became the first Israeli citizens to have their same-sex marriage certificate from abroad recognized in Israel.
“I’m teaching this wonderful group of young people that have come from all over the world to have their moment in Israel, to finally be free in their Jewish homeland, to be in this democratic Jewish safe space. And they have to see their own teacher going, ‘Oh my God. There are these people out there who their sole purpose is to hate me.’ And it was a dissonance,” recalled Rose, who lives in Jerusalem with his husband and their 10-year-old twins.
“I mean, what the hell am I doing here if that’s the way we are as a Jewish people?” he continued. “And I was scared. I won’t lie to you. I was scared…. I had flashbacks about what my grandparents went through in Europe. And I had to remind myself we aren’t quite there yet. I’m not at the point [where I am going to] pack my bags and protect my children and get out of here.”
By the end of the next day, 14 members of the union of three far-right parties — Noam, Otzma Yehudit (or Jewish Power) and National Union — became the third-largest slate in the Knesset and the second largest in the governing coalition that Benjamin Netanyahu is now assembling. Netanyahu’s other coalition partners are two haredi Orthodox parties, Shas and United Torah Judaism. It will be the most right-wing conservative, religious government in Israel’s history, and its leaders are already vowing to roll back rights that LGBTQ Israelis have only recently won.
Israel does not permit same-sex marriage. But its Supreme Court has strengthened protections for Israelis who enter same-sex marriages abroad, requiring that the marriages be recognized by the state and ensuring that same-sex couples be permitted to adopt children and pursue surrogacy. Now, a Shas lawmaker could be appointed to head the ministry in charge of granting marriage licenses, and a self-proclaimed “proud homophobe” is poised for a leadership position as well.
“I don’t think they’ll criminalize my marriage or take my children away,” said Rose. “But there is a general sense of fear seizing the LGBTQ community.”
Noam, the smallest of three factions making up the joint Religious Zionism list, has focused on advancing policies that prevent the creation of non-traditional families, such as same-gender parents or children created through surrogacy, which it calls “the destruction of the family.” The party’s election slogan was a call to make Israel “a normal” nation.
A man sits outside Shpagat, a gay bar in Tel Aviv, in November 2022. (Orly Halpern)
In a 2019 tweet, the party outlined its vision for what “normal” means. “A father and a father is not normal,” the list began. It ended by alluding to the party’s opposition to Pride flags: “Asking to remove a flag that represents all this madness — that’s actually quite normal.”
One afternoon last week, two male cooks wearing tight black T-shirts exposing prodigious biceps were preparing for opening hour at Shpagat, Tel Aviv’s first gay bar. “Ohad,” who asked not to use his real name out of fear of being harmed, told JTA that there was great concern among his peers about how the new government would shift budgets, change laws and policies and deny LGBTQ Israelis their rights.
“I’m concerned that we will lose all the rights we gained with the recent government and over the last few years,” said Ohad. The outgoing government, a centrist interlude after more than a decade of right-wing leadership, was the most progressive in Israel’s history in terms of the gay community. “We’re talking about the most basic things, like being allowed to donate blood, being allowed to parent children through surrogacy, cancelling the prohibition of LGBTQ+ ‘conversion therapy.’ It’s both to cancel things and to go backwards.”
Yair Lapid speaks at the Tel Aviv Pride Parade on June 10, 2022, weeks before becoming Israeli prime minister. His government was Israel’s most progressive on LGBTQ issues.(Alexi Rosenfeld/Getty Images)
Indeed, one of the memes that worried Israelis have shared widely since election results came out reads, “Don’t forget that tonight, we are moving the clock back 2,000 years.”
Another issue is the distribution of government funding. Israel’s Ministry for Social Equality, for example, allocated 90 million shekels ($26.7 million) this year to benefit the LGBTQ community, which included funding for LGBTQ centers in some 70 cities. The education ministry and local municipalities also provide budgets to the Israel Gay Youth organization, and for teaching in schools about LGBTQ inclusion. Avi Maoz, the head of the Noam party, said he wants to cancel “progressive study programs” about gender.
A spokesperson for the Noam party was unable to make Maoz available and declined to otherwise offer comment.
Transgender Israelis could face the most stark changes. About 40% of transgender people have attempted suicide at least once in their life, according to the health ministry, and more than half avoid receiving medical care. Last year, the outgoing government’s health minister, Nitzan Horowitz, who is gay, set new policies to make healthcare more accessible to the transgender community.
Now the fear is that these policies will be canceled, as will be subsidies for sex reassignment surgeries and drugs. “For all the boys and girls who are in the process of defining their gender identity physically and emotionally, it will make their treatments very expensive or unaffordable,” said Ohad. “That can jeopardize their lives.”
It’s clear that the right-wing party leaders are not sympathetic to the plight of LGBTQ Israelis. Bezalel Smotrich, the head of the Religious Zionist party, identifies himself as a “proud homophobe.” In August, his party protested the enrollment of a third-grader at a religious boys’ school who had transitioned from his gender assigned at birth.
“There is no place in the national religious school system for such confusion of opinions and views that seriously harm the values, natural health and identity of its students,” Smotrich wrote to the education ministry.
The right-wing parties have trained their sights on Israel’s Supreme Court, which has delivered crucial victories to LGBTQ advocates and other minorities. The parties say the court is out of step with Israeli values.
One of the first legislative measures the next government intends to pass is the High Court Bypass Law, which would allow a simple majority of the Knesset’s 120 lawmakers to override Supreme Court rulings on laws that the court struck down, thereby undermining the court’s ability to protect human and civil rights.
“It will leave us as a defenseless minority,” said Liad Ortar, the head of an environmental, social and corporate governance firm, who spoke to JTA from the Climate Change Conference in Egypt. Ortar and his husband have 8-year-old twins through a surrogate from Thailand.
Liad Ortar, right, is concerned that Israel’s incoming government could enact policies that hurt families like his where both parents are of the same sex. (Courtesy Ortar)
Many LGBTQ Israelis fear that lack of tolerance from government ministers could translate into incitement, harassment and physical attacks in the public sphere, and that the religious right-wing extremists who have directed violence towards Palestinians will now target them as well.
“In recent months there has been a very extreme escalation in what’s happening with the settlers and their violence, including the army, that doesn’t really provide protection,” said Ohad. “Not long ago there was an attack on a left-wing woman activist.… Those people are now going to become the ministers of education and culture. So aside from the Arabs and what the settlers do to them there, the next easy target is the gay community.”
In 2015, a religious Jewish man stabbed and killed Shira Banki, a 16-year-old girl marching with her family in Jerusalem’s gay pride parade — weeks after he completed a 10-year sentence for a similar attack in 2005. Now, members of the Religious Zionism slate have called to abolish gay pride parades.
“It’s not only that we are really afraid and worried about our own future. But it’s also our kids’ future. How will it look? And not just the kids of a gay couple, but gay children,” Ortar said. “We’re going to go back to the time where homosexuality can’t be shown publicly, whether at school or in the public sphere. Where they might beat the hell out of a gay couple because they walked hand in hand. Or cursing children in schools because their parents are gay.”
Not all LGBTQ Israelis are alarmed by the incoming government. Gilad Halahmi, a gay man who lives in Tel Aviv, has been active in promoting the Otzma Yehudit and has developed a personal rapport with its leader, Itamar Ben-Gvir. “The fact that he and Smotrich have an anti-LGBTQ agenda doesn’t mean they hate [us],” he said.
Halahmi said he believes his involvement has mitigated Religious Zionist stances on LGBTQ issues, and he also said Amir Ohana, a Knesset member from Netanyahu’s Likud party who is gay, had helped shift right-wing politicians’ views on those issues. But even without that, he said, the tradeoff to get the policies he wants on other issues is worth it.
“I give up LGBTQ rights, but I get something that is much more important to me in return, which is the economic issue, the security issue, the migration issue, governance,” Halahmi said. “It’s things that are 10 times more important to me than public transportation on Shabbat or whether I’ll get married in Israel or abroad.”
But for those who value religious pluralism and LGBTQ rights — and polls have shown that a majority of Israelis do — the current moment is alarming. On Sunday, Ben-Gvir vowed to revoke government recognition of non-Orthodox conversions to Judaism, in the latest sign that a far-right coalition would seek to create practical changes quickly.
For Rabbi Mikie Goldstein, the new government’s threatened assault on pluralism and LGBTQ rights offers a one-two punch that has him questioning whether he should continue living in Israel. Goldstein, an immigrant from England, was the first out gay pulpit rabbi in Israel when he took the reins of a congregation in Rehovot in 2014. Now, he leads the Conservative movement’s Rabbinical Assembly in Israel, working to support rabbis and their congregations who belong to the movement, known as Masorti in Israel.
“If I can’t do my work properly, if I’m not accepted — how much can you take?” Goldstein said. “I’m not prepared to give up yet [on Israel] but it’s certainly crossed my mind.”
LGBTQ activists say they won’t give up rights without a fight — and that they are prepared to mount one.
“We are very much united,” said Ortar. “We have a very strong civil infrastructure. The LGBTQ community is very well established in social and demographic groups. A lot of us are in the media, industry, high tech. After the statement about abolishing the parade, you could hear the drums beating. There will be demonstrations if that happens.”
In 2018, some 100,000 people demonstrated — outraged after then-prime minister Netanyahu voted against a bill to allow gay couples to use surrogacy.
Members of the LGBTQ community and supporters participate in a demonstration against a Knesset bill amendment denying surrogacy for same-sex couples, in Tel Aviv, July 22, 2018. (Tomer Neuberg/Flash90)
Last week, Netanyahu tried to assuage fears and ordered officials in his close circle to tell the press that his government would not allow any change to the status quo regarding LGBT rights. But he did not come out saying it himself.
“This is the time to be angry, not scared,” said Rose. “We can’t be complacent anymore. The privilege of complacency has come to an end. That has to be the message of this election. You have to fight for what you want.”
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NYU student draws hate crime charges for flying flag with swastikas, Star of David over campus building
(New York Jewish Week) — A New York University student is facing hate crime charges for allegedly raising a flag depicting a Star of David, two swastikas and the letters “NYU” over a university building during commencement last month.
Alexander Stepnowsky, 23, of Fairfield, Connecticut, was arrested Tuesday afternoon on the Lower East Side of Manhattan and charged with one count of hate crime burglary, two counts of aggravated harassment and one count of criminal trespassing in a hate crime, according to the New York City Police Department.
An NYU spokesperson said Stepnowsky would also face discipline from the university.
“The symbols that were represented are antisemitic and hateful to every person of conscience; this appalling act violated our sense of community and solidarity,” said the spokesperson, Wiley Norvell. “In addition to criminal proceedings, we will immediately pursue our disciplinary procedures, which carry the most severe consequences.”
The arrest comes as NYU has faced heightened scrutiny over antisemitism and anti-Israel rhetoric on its campus in recent years. In 2024, the school revised its hate speech policy to define slurs against “Zionists” as potentially in violation of its harassment code. During this year’s commencement, the school withheld the diploma of student who used his address to accuse Israel of genocide.
The flag depicting the swastikas flew briefly over the roof of New York University’s Steinhardt building, named for the major Jewish philanthropists Michael and Judy Steinhardt, during the school’s commencement on May 13.
Michael Steinhardt is a co-founder of Birthright, the organization that underwrites free trips to Israel for young Jewish adults.
Stepnowsky pleaded not guilty at his arraignment Wednesday and was released without bail, according to CBS News.
The office of Stepnowsky’s lawyer, Vickie Mwitanti, declined to comment.
The post NYU student draws hate crime charges for flying flag with swastikas, Star of David over campus building appeared first on The Forward.
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Research studies in Yiddish by noted historians, now in English
מיט װאָס זײַנען די היסטאָרישע פֿאָרשונגען אױף ייִדיש אַנדערש פֿון די, װאָס זײַנען אָנגעשריבן געװאָרן אױף אַנדערע שפּראַכן? ווי עס שרײַבט ד״ר מאַרק סמיט, דער רעדאַקטאָר פֿון דער אַנטאָלאָגיע „דאָס בּױען און טרייסטן אַ פֿאָלק: ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע היסטאָריקער אין זײערע אײגענע װערטער“, איז דער פֿאָקוס פֿון די ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע פֿאָרשונגען געװען אױף די אינערלעכע זײַטן פֿונעם ייִדישן לעבן.
דערצו נאָך, שרײַבט סמיט, איז זײער קוק אױף דער ייִדישער געשיכטע כּסדר געווען פּאָזיטיװ, „להיפּוך צו די אַנדערע היסטאָריקער, ייִדן און ניט־ייִדן, װאָס האָבן אין זײערע שטודיעס באַטאָנט יסורים און רדיפֿות פֿון ייִדן“.
די אַנטאָלאָגיע נעמט אַרײַן 49 אױסצוגן פֿון ייִדיש־שפּראַכיקע היסטאָרישע װערק. דאָס רובֿ פֿון זײ שטאַמען פֿון דער ערשטער העלפֿט פֿונעם צװאַנציקסטן יאָרהונדערט.
די טעקסטן זײַנען צעטײלט אין זיבן טעמאַטישע אָפּטײלן, װאָס שפּיגלען אָפּ די הױפּט־ריכטונגען פֿון פֿאָרשונגען: ייִדישע קהילה־אױטאָנאָמיע; קולטור, עקאָנאָמיק און געזעלשאַפֿט; באַציִונגען מיט די אַרומיקע אומות־העולם; ייִדישע ליטעראַטור; פּרעסע און קאָמוניקאַציעס; ייִדישע דערציִונג, און ביכער־רעצענזיעס.
יעדער אָפּטײל באַהאַנדלט די געהעריקע טעמע כראָנאָלאָגיש, פֿון פֿריִערע צײַטן ביזן חורבן. אַזױ באַקומט דער לײענער אַ ברײטן באַגריף פֿון דער היסטאָרישער אַנטװיקלונג פֿון יענעם אַסקעפּט פֿונעם ייִדישן לעבן.
דער ענין פֿון דער ייִדישער אױטאָנאָמיע האָט לעצטנס אַרויסגערופֿן אַ נײַעם אינטערעס מצד די קעגנערס פֿון מדינת־ישׂראל און איר פּאָליטיק. אַ סימן איז דער גרױסער דערפֿאָלג פֿון מאָלי קראַבעפּלס בוך װעגן דעם בונד, װאָס טענהט, אַז די פּראָגראַם פֿון דער נאַציאָנאַל־קולטורעלער אױטאָנאָמיע איז געװען בילכער פֿונעם ציוניסטישן פּראָיעקט פֿון ייִדישער מלוכישקײט.
דער גײַסטיקער פֿאָטער פֿון דער פּאָליטישער פּראָגראַם פֿון ייִדישער נאַציאָנאַל־קולטורעלער אױטאָנאָמיע אין גלות איז געװען דער היסטאָריקער שמעון דובנאָװ, וואָס איז, אַגבֿ, ניט געווען קײן בונדיסט, נאָר אַן אָנפֿירער פֿון דער ליבעראַל־דעמאָקראַטישער פֿאָלקספּאַרטײ.
די אַנטאָלאָגיע עפֿנט זיך מיט פֿראַגמענטן פֿון זײַן איבערזיכט „אױטאָנאָמיע אין דער ייִדישער געשיכטע“ אינעם ערשטן באַנד פֿון דער „אַלגעמײנער ענציקלאָפּעדיע“, װאָס איז אַרױס אין פּאַריז אין 1934.
װי אַ היסטאָריקער, האָט דובנאָװ געװאָלט אײַנװאָרצלען ייִדישע פּאָליטיק אינעם ייִדישן עבֿר. ער האָט געפֿונען אַ היסטאָרישן מוסטער פֿאַר דער מאָדערנער ייִדישער אױטאָנאָמיע אינעם „װעד ארבע אַרצות“ (ראַט פֿון די פֿיר לענדער), דעם הױפּט־אָרגאַן פֿונעם פּױלישן ייִדנטום אינעם 17טן און 18טן יאָרהונדערט.
אָבער װי עס האָבן דערװיזן אַנדערע היסטאָריקער, אַזעלכע װי ישׂראל סאָסיס, רפֿאל מאַלער און יצחק (איגנאַצי) שיפּער, האָט דובנאָװ שטאַרק אידעאַליזירט די ראָלע פֿונעם װעד.
דער װעד איז, דער עיקר, געװען פֿאַרטאָן אין זאַמלען געלט פֿון ייִדישע קהילות אױף צו שטיצן די אײגענע פֿירערשאַפֿט און צעטײלן כאַבאַר צו פּױלישע מאַגנאַטן. בלױז אַ פּאָר פּראָצענט פֿונעם בודזשעט האָט דער װעד אױסגעגעבן אױף די נױטן פֿונעם כּלל.
צום סוף האָט דער װעד ן באַנקראָטירט צוליב די ריזיקע חובֿות צו קאַטױלישע קלױסטערס. אין 1764 האָט דער פּױלישער סײם (פּאַרלאַמענט) ליקװידירט דעם װעד און באַשלאָסן צו זאַמלען שטײַערן פֿון ייִדן אױפֿן מאָדערנעם שטײגער, פֿון יחידים אַנשטאָט קהילות.
דער ערשטער טײל פֿון בוך ענדיקט זיך מיטן קאַפּיטל, ייִדישע ׳אױטאָנאָמיע׳: די יודענראַטן אונטער דער נאַציסטישער אָקופּאַציע“. דאָס איז אַ קאָמפּילאַציע פֿון דרײַ אַרטיקלען פֿון ישעיהו טרונק, װאָס אַנטפּלעקט װי זײַן נעגאַטיװע אָפּשאַצונג פֿון יודענראַטן איז געװאָרן מילדער מיט דער צײַט. ער האָט דערזען אַז אײניקע אָנפֿירער פֿון יודענראַטן האָבן טאַקע געפּרוּװט העלפֿן ייִדן אין די געטאָס.
גענומען אין אײנעם, װײַזן די דאָזיקע קאַפּילטען, אַז ייִדן האָבן קײן מאָל ניט געהאַט קײן פֿולע פּאָליטישע אױטאָנאָמיע. די חױפּט־פֿונקציע פֿון דער ייִדישער קהילה־אױטאָנאָמיע איז געװען אונטערצושטיצן באַציִונגען מיט דער הערשנדיקער מאַכט.
דאָס רובֿ אױסגעקליבענע טעקסטן באַהאַנדלען טעמעס, װאָס האָבן צו טאָן מיטן ייִדישן כּלל אָבער ניט מיט חשובֿע יחידים. און װען עס גײט די רײד טאַקע יאָ װעגן יחידים, זײַנען דאָס כּסדר געװען כּלל־טוער. למשל פֿיליפּ פֿרידמאַנס אַרטיקל דערצײלט װעגן דעם גאַליציאַנער משׂכּיל יוסף פּערל (1773־1839), דעם גרינדער פֿון דער ערשטער מאָדערנער ייִדישער שול אין טאַרנעפּל (הײַנט אין אוקראַיִנע) אין 1813.
עס פֿעלן דאָ אָבער װיכטיקע היסטאָריש־ביאָגראַפֿישע פֿאָרשונגען װעגן אײנצלנע ייִדישע שרײַבער, דיכטער, אַקטיאָרן און קינסטלער. דער דאָזיקער בלױז שפּיגלט אָפּ דעם רעדאַקטאָרס קוק אױף ייִדן אין מיזרח־אײראָפּע װי אַ „נאַציאָנאַלער גרופּע, װאָס װערט באַשטימט דורך דער בשותּפֿותדיקער געשיכטע און קולטור“. אַזױ באַקומט זיך, אַז די היסטאָרישע ראָלע פֿון אַ יחיד, אַפֿילו אַזאַ גאון װי מענדעלע מוכר־ספֿרים, איז ניט זוכה אַ ספּעציעלן קאַפּיטל.
די צװײ צענטערס פֿון ייִדישער היסטאָרישער פֿאָרשונג צװישן די בײדע װעלט־מלחמות זײַנען געװען אין פּױלן און אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד. אין די 1920ער יאָרן האָבן בײדע צענטערס נאָך געקענט אונטערהאַלטן קאָנטאַקטן. אין די 1930ער יאָרן איז דער אידעאָלאָגישער און פּאָליטישער דרוק מצד דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ אין סאָװעטן־פֿאַרבאַנד געװאָרן אַ סך האַרבער, און מען האָט שױן מער ניט געקענט שאַפֿן װערטפֿולע און אָריגינעלע היסטאָרישע װערק. אַזױ איז געװען דער גורל פֿון סאָסיס, װעלכער איז אַרױסגעטריבן געװאָרן פֿון דער קאָמוניסטישער פּאַרטײ אין 1931 און האָט פֿאַרלױרן זײַן שטעלע אין דער װיסנשאַפֿט־אַקאַדעמיע פֿון בעלאַרוס.
אין פּױלן, להיפּוך, איז אױפֿגעקומען אַ נײַער דור ייִדישע היסטאָריקער, אַזעלכע װי רפֿאל מאַלער, עמנואל רינגלבלום און פֿיליפּ פֿרידמאַן, װאָס האָבן שטודירט געשיכטע אין פּױלישע אוניװערסיטעטן און האָבן געקענט דרוקן זײערע װערק אין אַקאַדעמישע זשורנאַלן אױף ייִדיש און פּױליש.
אינעם װאַרשעװער געטאָ האָט רינגלבלום אָרגאַניזירט דעם היסטאָרישן אַרכיװ „עונג־שבת“, װאָס האָט געזאַמלט מאַטעריאַלן װעגן דעם לעבן און טױט אינעם געטאָ. ער און כּמעט אַלע מיטאַרבעטער זײַנע זײַנען אומגעקומען אינעם חורבן.
די, װאָס האָבן איבערגעלעבט דעם חורבן – מאַלער, פֿרידמאַן, טרונק און אַנדערע — האָבן ממשיך געװען זײער אַרבעט, לכתּחילה אין פּױלן און שפּעטער אין אַמעריקע אָדער ישׂראל. דאָרט האָבן זײ געאַרבעט דער עיקר אין ייִװאָ און יד־ושם, און זײער פֿאָרשערישע טעמע איז געװאָרן דער חורבן.
מאַרק סמיט האָט אָנגעהױבן זאַמלען מאַטעריאַלן פֿאַר דער אַנטאָלאָגיע מיט צװאַנציק יאָר צוריק. די ייִדישע אָריגינאַלן פֿון װערטפֿולע היסטאָרישע װערק זײַנען צעזײט און צעשפּרײט איבער אַלטע צײַטשריפֿטן, װאָס לרובֿ זײַנען זײ ניט צוטריטלעך עלעקטראָניש. די אַנטאָלאָגיע אַנטפּלעקט די דאָזיקע רײַכע ירושה פֿאַרן ברײטערן עולם לײענער, און זי װעט זײַן ספּעציעל ניצלעך פֿאַר לערער און סטודענטן פֿון ייִדישער געשיכטע.
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In the course of his 104 years, he resisted the Nazis, fought against blood libel and became a towering Jewish intellectual
Today, in a public ceremony held at Les Invalides, President Emmanuel Morin led the French Fifth Republic in paying its last respects to one of the nation’s great public figures, Edgar Morin, whose 104 years spanned the Third and Fourth Republics as well. He was a sociologist, philosopher, writer, film director and screenwriter. But Morin’s real profession was as an intellectual.
There is a vast literature on the character and career of the French intellectual — much of it written by intellectuals — just as there is much disagreement on when this social type first appeared. Some historians reach back as far as the Enlightenment and the role played by les philosophes like Voltaire in their struggle for political liberty and religious toleration, while other historians argue that the modern intellectual burst onto the scene more than a century later with the Dreyfus Affair.
It was at that pivotal moment in late 19th century France that the word “intellectuel” gained currency. Used as a term of scorn by antisemites like Maurice Barrès, they believed Captain Alfred Dreyfus was guilty of treason precisely because he was Jewish. As for those “intellectuals” who defended Dreyfus, Barrès dismissed them as “aristocrats of thought who boasted they did not think like the vile crowd.” Yet those same intellectuals, led by the novelist Émile Zola, gladly embraced the description. Convinced that objective reason and truth made Dreyfus’ innocence clear, they believed, as Zola famously declared, that “truth is on the march.”
But, as Morin always insisted, truth is complex. So, too, was his career, which in many ways reflects the origin story of the French intellectual. Born as Edgar Nahoum in Paris in 1921, his parents were Jewish immigrants from Salonica, a city that had been home to Greece’s largest Jewish community until World War II. (Nearly 90% of the community, some 54,000 men, women, and children were eventually murdered in Nazi death camps.) A precocious student, Nahoum spent his days in libraries studying German philosophers like Hegel and his nights in cinemas studying French films directed by the likes of Marcel Pagnol.
Yet everything changed, including his name, come France’s defeat and occupation by Nazi Germany in 1940. Making his way to the Unoccupied Zone, the 20-year-old Nahoum, who had been a pacifist before the war, soon joined both the banned Communist Party and the French Resistance. By 1944 and liberation, Nahoum had not only become a lieutenant in the Free French Forces, but due to a typo that turned his combat pseudonym “Manin” into “Morin,” the young man was renamed. In fact, he was remade. “What would we have been without the Resistance?” Morin later wondered. “It was thanks to the Resistance that we were given a life.”
And what a life it turned out to be. In 1951, the rebellious Morin, who was outraged by the Soviet show trials, was invited to leave the French Communist Party. At the same time, though he did not have a graduate degree, Morin was nevertheless invited — thanks to the recommendations of the philosophers Vladimir Jankéklévitch and Maurice Merleau-Ponty — to join the prestigious National Center for Scientific Research in Paris in 1950. It was there that he launched a career that fused his academic interests as a sociologist with journalism.
For the next three quarters of a century, Morin seemed to be everywhere all at once. (When I lived in France, I had the impression that, whether on the shelves of bookstores, pages of newspapers, or sets of television shows, I was always bumping into him.) When he was not being interviewed in documentaries, he was making them; when not publishing one of his more than 40 books, he was reviewing books written by others; when seismic events occurred, he was there before anyone else — and got a book out faster. And the books, the work of an intellectuel engagé, were often themselves events that left their mark on Morin’s contemporary audience and future scholars.
One of the most notable of these is La Rumeur d’Orléans, or Rumor in Orléans. In May, 1969 — just one year after the student rebellions that had swept across France (and about which Morin had already published a book) — a rumor started to sweep across the small city of Orléans, famous for being defended against the English by Joan of Arc in the 15th century. The rumor that took flight in Orléans in 1969 — a variation of the blood libel against Jews — was as old as Joan’s achievement. In the dressing rooms of several local clothing stores, so the rumor went, young women were being drugged and sex trafficked. Moreover, the owners of all these stores were, of course, Israëlites (the frequent moniker for French Jews since the 19th century.)
That there was not a single reported case of a missing, much less abducted, woman had little effect on the crowds that gathered outside these stores. As the crowds grew, along with the fear of the store owners and their staffs, the news media picked up on the event. Politicians and pundits expressed outrage and confusion over the rumor — how could this be possible just a quarter-century after Auschwitz, they asked — and the police began to investigate. They could not find a single culprit.
Within weeks of the news reaching Paris, Morin had collected a half-dozen colleagues and set up shop in Orléans to make sense of the rumor. The team, who described their work as la sociologie événementielle, or “event-based sociology,” interviewed locals, met with officials, and rifled through archival documents. Their conclusion reflected a truth dear to Morin: the complexity of any single event. By complexity, Morin did not mean “complicated,” a word we often use when we refuse to engage a subject. Instead, a complex event spans not only the many factors that made this event possible, but also encompasses the way in which our own theories and thoughts alter our understanding of the event. This complex event, Morin concluded, was partly the work of rapid modernization and the great changes it wrought: urbanization, consumerism, and sexual rebellion. It was as if, one historian remarked, “miniskirts were taking people back to the Middle Ages,” and back to the Jew as the traditional scapegoat for these vast social and economic disruptions.
But only partly. The man who described himself as “Judeo-Gentile” always insisted that events often take not just ordinary folk, but also specialists by surprise. Just as no one predicted France’s defeat in 1940, Morin never thought he had the courage to become a resistance fighter. Yet he did. This is a lesson in humility, of course, but also a lesson in humanity. “Let us make our way in uncertainty,” Morin always insisted, “but also in fraternity.” If only we could make this motto our own.
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