The Czech guard
leaned against the Staranovà Sinagoga (Old New Synagogue) in Prague, Europe's
oldest active synagogue, and stared at me with crossed arms. Though I already
had shown through an identification card that I had the most Jewish name
imaginable, the guard that had pulled me aside remained unconvinced. After
fourteen rapid questions ranging from my biography and my rabbi's biography to
my religious habits and traditions, he asked me if I was armed and checked my
bag when I said no. The second Czech guard opened the door, finally, and
pointed to the women's section of the service that had begun without me.
The largest place of
Jewish worship in Istanbul, Neve Şalom Sinagogu (Neve Shalom Synagogue), does
not allow entrance to any guest, Jewish or not, armed or not, who has not
called in advance. That synagogue has survived a shooting incident in 1986 and
bombing incidents in both 1992 and 2003. Now, no one answers any of the seven
steel doors that line the synagogue's façade, covered in Star of David patterns.
In my case, no one answers the phone either. In Turkey, Jews need to make an
appointment to pray. In Turkey, Jews can walk into any mosque or church. No one
checks bags, identity, intent. Just cover up conservatively with scarves or
pants.
What the Jews in
Istanbul cover up is their religion. In contrast, the starkly separated Jewish
Quarter of Prague, donned with a red rug in the middle of the street to mark
the difference in cobblestone, allows Jews a space to cover themselves
according to Jewish law, but unfurl their Judaica. Sidewalk stalls with
marionettes, a typical Prague knickknack, have rabbi figurines alongside
Eastern European children or fairytale animals.
The Jews I spoke to
in both countries say they feel safe. Some admitted being afraid, and some
expressed mere frustration at the rising anti-Semitism in France, Belgium, the
UK and other parts of Europe and the Middle East that international news
reports have brought to light.
Scribbled Hate
Czech Jews do not feel
the ramifications of the Israeli government's decisions, but the Turkish Jews
certainly do. The Jewish identity, a religious affiliation and a cultural
tradition, holds a political charge as well--a charge that has sparked and
caused (metaphorical) fires around the world. The conflict in the Gaza Strip
between the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) and Hamas fighters, a terrorist
organization, has escalated far beyond the hotly contested Israeli borders.
In Czech Republic,
the casualties of war have not been bodies, but desecrated walls. Anyone can
see anti-Semitic graffiti, of which there have been four documented incidents
in Czech Republic after Operation Protective Edge began on July 8, 2014. Petra
Koutská Schwarzová, who works for the Security Department of the
Prague Jewish Community Center, has noticed an increase in anti-Semitic
vandalism since Operation Protective Edge. Schwarzová shared the photographic
evidence with me in confidence, noting that none of the incidents were
"medialized." The Security Department of the Prague Jewish Community
Center publishes an annual report, which will provide more details of summer
2014 incidents when the document is released.
Chief Rabbi David
Peter, a 38-year-old Prague native and former professional dancer, received a
threatening anonymous letter in one of these incidents. The paper showed a
swastika inside a Star of David, with "GAZA" scribbled beneath. Rabbi
Peter, who was elected Chief Rabbi by the Prague Jewish community on August 5,
2014, does not seem concerned by this statement or the two "small"
anti-Israel protests that occurred in Prague.
Some Czechs have not
even noticed any anti-Semitic events. Milan Walter, an employee at the Prague
Jewish Museum Library, has only heard about "2 or 3 such incidents"
over the last 20 years. In light of escalations in Gaza, Walter observed
demonstrations in Prague in support of the Israeli state, but no
"anti-Jewish mood connected to the war in Gaza."
Turkey does not have
a report about anti-Semitic expressions on its streets, but I passed five
graffiti of swastikas and references to Nazis and the Führer during my week in
Istanbul. Additionally, the bigotry runs rampant on virtual walls. Facebook and
Twitter has become a forum for hate speech in Turkey, as documented by an NGO
focused on bigotry in Turkish media, Hrant Dink Foundation. In their last hate
speech report from September to December of 2013, with data gathered from every
Turkish print media source, they counted 57 instances of anti-Semitic
language--the same number as hateful language against Armenians.
Zeyne Parslon of
Hrant Dink Foundation has noticed an increase in anti-Semitic tweets parallel
to escalations in Gaza. The hashtag #TurkeyPrayingforGazze trended on Twitter,
with language that shocked Asli Tunç, a professor of media studies at Istanbul
Bilgi University. With pursed lips of worry that accentuate her dimples, Tunç
says, "You see how intolerant we became," referencing the tweets and
retweets that compare Israel to Hitler, the conflict to genocide or massacre,
and Jews as the "curse of our community." One tweeter views Jews as
the "illegitimate child" of the Middle East. Another considers Israel
"the Hunchback of the world," which "shall be humbled."
Many post political cartoons showing Israelis as terrorists and murderers, as
well as disturbing photographs of dead children.
Safety Without Concerns
"Don't worry
about him, he's paranoid," Czech Kosher restaurant owner Aaron Günsberger
assured me a few steps away from the Staranovà Sinagoga after services,
commenting on the (Staranovà Sinagoga) security guard there. Seeing my tape
recorder as I spoke to the few Jews who had prayed who were Czech--most of the
attendees were tourists--the (security) guard had pulled me aside again to ask
me more rapid-fire questions, including whether or not I'm a Russian spy.
Shifting his weight
from leg to leg in excitement, Günsberger dismisses bigots in Prague as
"just a few stupid people." To a bystander who shouted, "Go
home!" during a pro-Israel demonstration, which four hundred people
attended, Günsberger had responded, "What do you mean go home? My family
has been here for eight generations. We have papers that say 1650. I'm Jewish,
but I'm Czech.”
The cantor of
Staranovà Sinagoga, whose job is to lead the synagogue in prayer, also
dismissed the tense security guards. Baruch Weiss finds them unnecessary and
feels safe in Prague. Given Czech Republic's past positive stance on Israeli
politics, Weiss has faith in his country to continue supporting Israel and
Czech Jews.
Weiss explains in a
soft British accent the historical understanding Czechs have towards Israelis.
The betrayal in the Munich Agreements, which allowed for the invasion and
seizing of land by Germany, "gives the Czech people an understanding of
how it feels to be surrounded by hostile neighbors," says Weiss.
The Czech sympathy
towards Israelis translates to sympathy towards Jews as well, though not many
remain in the country. Czech Republic has had muted reactions to Israel's war
in Gaza. There were two small anti-Israel protests in Prague, both with less
than one hundred people. There were no anti-Semitic chants, negative reference
to the Jews, or violence. The demonstrations were "pathetic,"
according to Daniel Kumermann of the Czech Ministry of Foreign Affairs, who
previously held the ambassadorship position in Jerusalem.
Czech Jews are not
concerned about the future nor think about leaving. Having converted to Judaism
as a young adult, the 66-year-old Kumermann has vague recollections of
witnessing anti-Semitism over the decades, but dismisses it as a "product
of idiocy more than strong ideology."
But Weiss admits,
"Somebody called me the anti-Christ, which I just thought was funny. I
have noticed [hate speech] more since the last month or so, with what's happening
in Israel. I feel a bit more worried about security. You have to be prepared to
speak out for Israel at any moment because people may say something to you at
any time."
"I've run a
Kosher restaurant for 25 years and sometimes I'm also a bit anti-Semitic. It's
really hard to survive such a kind of business," Günsberger jokes.
Günsberger displays an Israeli flag outside his restaurant and the IDF symbol
on his motorbike, but realizes his behavior is risky.
Czechs feel at ease
about the hostility towards Jews because they read about it more than they
experience it, given the Czech government support and continued upkeep of the
Jewish Quarter.
In contrast, as Asli
Tunç of Istanbul Bilgi University points out, "Anti-Semitism is embedded
in Turkish society. The language isn't censored because it's acceptable."
With such strong cultural ties, hate speech does not meet the same shock as in
Czech Republic or other European countries.
Similar to Czech
Republic, Turkey has a dwindling Jewish community: the number has gone down to
about 17,000, and 15,000 of them live in Istanbul. The Turkish population is
more than 76 million. There are no areas of the city where Jews historically
were obligated to live, which allows the Jews to disappear among the
population. Andrew Finkel, a journalist who has covered Turkey for many
decades, believes that the Turkish Jews are protected by their blending in
because "there's not that many Turkish Jews to begin with. You'd have to
find them first to be violent against them."
The number of Jews
will certainly decrease. The coordinator of the Ottoman-Turkish Sephardic
Culture Research Center, Karen Sarhon, believes that the Jewish presence will
diminish even more "especially after these Gaza events and with Erdoğan as
President. People are trying to figure out a way to leave before something bad
happens. It might not, but you can never be too sure." Sarhon has not
experienced or heard about any violence, but "people shout, 'Go away, we
don't want you here.'"
The Ottoman-Turkish
Sephardic Culture Research Center looks like an artifacts museum, as if all the
Turkish Jews had already disappeared. The center lies hidden in an apartment
building. A doorman checks identification and bags, and uses both a phone and a
walkie-talkie to alert the center of visitors. After an elevator ride, a locked
gate buzzes open, only to allow access to a staircase that leads to a locked
entrance door. Books in Hebrew and Turkish about Jewish philosophy and history,
Jewish holidays and traditions, Israeli politics, and by authors as diverse as
Hannah Arendt and Paul Auster, stack the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that
flank the whole office. Menorahs, skullcaps, and awards decorate the books. A
glass case in the middle of the room protects mezuzahs, Torah pointers, and
silver and cobalt necklaces and bracelets.
None of the
synagogues in Istanbul offer services every day anymore: some are weeknights
only and others unlock their doors just for the Sabbath. Most Turks have never
met a Jew or don't think they have. Rifat Bali, a scholar of non-minority
Turkish groups and anti-Semitism, thinks the level of prejudice has remained
consistent and just "the social media has made it more visible,"
which is "why one has the sensation that anti-Semitism increased."
Media Coverage
Social media has
changed citizens' view of war: connectivity allows those formerly removed to
sympathize more closely with those amidst a conflict. For Operation Protective
Edge, the world has become involved in a war that is just one tragedy in a
complex dilemma. The issue in Gaza is more than a hashtag.
Most news agencies in
the Czech Republic and Turkey, as well as other parts of the world, do not
present the full picture of the two sides or their motivations and the context
for this latest conflict. This leads citizens to choose sides and engage in
political debates online and on the streets with incomplete information.
Ignorance fuels hatred.
Czech news takes a pro-Israel stance
in its coverage, according to the head of the Security Policy Department at the
Czech Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Veronika Kuchynova Smigolova. Local papers
"report with sympathy towards Israel and the IDF," though "Czech
media in general pays less attention to the Middle East than other places in
Europe and the US. The Ukrainian crisis is reported on more."
Speaking in a calm
and even tone, unusual for this emotional subject but typical among diplomats,
Smigolova finds the Czech press to be the "exception to the rule" of
poorly portraying Israel's policies and rationale for the conflict. Yet she
considers the clearer visibility of anti-Semitic sentiments made apparent by
the international media outlets to be "good because people used to say
there is no anti-Semitism, but now it's more acknowledged as a problem."
Despite the positive
stance Czech news takes on Israeli affairs, many Jewish citizens still feel
frustrated by the skewed negative coverage or lack of press coverage of the
Israeli point of view. Czechs often read international news along with, or
instead of, local Czech outlets. Nili Klemperer, a Czech-Israeli currently
working for an Israeli company in Prague, doesn't "bother reading"
anymore because there is "hardly any truth about Israel and about the
conflict. People have no idea what Hamas is doing all year long to
Israel."
Due to television
reports that Klemperer believes colors Israel as "a really bad state"
caused by failure in covering the reasons behind Israel's rocket attacks to
Gaza, Klemperer experienced two anti-Semitic incidents: people making pig noises
behind the back of Klemperer's orthodox Jewish friend and a non-Jewish coworker
pinning a yellow "NO JUDE" sticker on the coat of another Czech Jew.
Similarly, Rifat
Bali, a scholar of Turkish minorities, finds that "the local Turkish media
reporting of the news is extremely biased. It takes as a fact that Israel is
the aggressor and a rogue state and reports accordingly." And since the
IDF is equated with all Israelis, who are equated with all Jews, Turkish Jews
become the target of bigotry every time Israel becomes front page news,
according to Zeynep Arslan, a soft-spoken and visibly empathetic member of the
media hate speech NGO, Hrant Dink Foundation. Slanted news articles in Turkish
papers about Israel unleash anger towards the Turkish Jewish community, says
Arslan.
The Turkish press has
been unfettered in its anti-Semitism during Operation Protective Edge, such as
the July 2014 newspaper headlines "Poisonous statements from Israeli
PM" on Hürriyet's front page,
"Germany had one Hitler, how many are there in Israel?" from Yeni Akit, "Occupation, blood, and
revenge" from Daily Sabah,
"How can I not be antisemitic?" from Yeni Akit, "Herzl's heritage is blood and tears in Gaza"
from Star, and "Is killing
Zionists licit?" from Yeni Akit,
all translated by the international digital forum based out of Israel, The
Coordination Forum for Countering Antisemitism.
The Şalom
newspaper aims to reverse prejudice by covering underreported news related to
the Jewish community. An editor, who wished to remain anonymous for this
article, says that the mission of Şalom is "to create a paper for
the Turkish-Jewish community, where they can receive news they can't find
anywhere else in Turkey. And we're the only open window to the community at
large, like a diplomat. The only Jew [Turks] know is the Israeli soldier with a
gun that they see on Turkish TV." The vast majority of Şalom's
online readership identifies as not-Jewish.
Şalom is
located above the Ottoman-Turkish Sephardic Research Center, accessible through
another spiral staircase. Five desks just fit in a sparsely decorated white
office. Şalom collaborates with its downstairs neighbors by publishing a
page of its weekly Turkish paper in the Ladino language. On the other hand, the
Ottoman-Turkish Sephardic Research Center publishes a weekly paper solely in
Ladino called Amaneser that supports the Şalom mission, but also
reports on current events unrelated to Jewish affairs.
Despite the scope of Şalom's
paper, the editor still restricts articles devoted to the Gaza conflict and
reactions to the war. She admits that, "We self-censor, but not because
we're Jewish. The way Turkish media is now, we all have to restrict the
coverage of Gaza." The Şalom editor feels hopeless for the future, she
says, especially with the presidential election of former Prime Minister Recep
Tayyip Erdoğan.
"Which prime minister
would say things like ours?" Sarhon asks, referencing Erdoğan's July
statement in which he called upon Turkish Jews to apologize for the war in
Gaza. Sarhon adds, "Everyone's aware that we're not responsible for the
Israeli government, but people still think that we have the power to call
Netanyahu and tell him to stop the bombing." She has stopped watching
Turkish television because of how skewed the information is, Sarhon says, calling
the obvious media bias "weird and funny and tragic."
And as Sarhon puts
it, "the Arabs haven't won the war, but they have definitely won the
media.”
Identity Crisis
Given the Palestinian
PR tactics that international media proliferates, perceptions of Jews have
shifted to become more stereotyped. Those with either a religious or secular
Jewish identity are paralleled with the IDF. In Czech Republic, national
identity coexists with religious affiliations. In Turkey, however, members of
the Jewish community have been forced to reconsider what it means to be
Turkish, since it is at odds with the Jewish community.
Aaron Günsberger boasts that Czech Republic is
"quite unique" and that on Facebook, "all the discussions--99%--are
pro-Israel." Gesticulating all his explanations, he prides himself on
being Jewish and is proud of his country for making him feel protected. But
reading the news of anti-Semitism in France, Belgium, Germany, and the United
Kingdom has shocked Günsberger, who realizes that since Czech Republic is such
a small country, more powerful European countries might eventually influence
Czech politics.
Nili Klemperer, the
Prague-born employee of an Israeli company, feels more at home in Israel. The
former Czech ambassador to Israel, Daniel Kumermann agrees that Israel is his
"real home, but I don't feel foreign in Czech Republic." The Czech
people I interviewed emphasize that anti-Semitism is still known as something
to be condemned, and that hate speech can be quelled before any violence occurs
Anti-Semitism is well
known in Turkey. Karen Sarhon of the Ottoman-Turkish Sephardic Culture Research
Center explains that since the Ottoman Empire, Turkish Jews were considered the
"other" and lawfully labeled as "dhimmi." Though the
Turkish government abandoned the term in 1923, Zeynep Arslan of the Hrant Dink
Foundation has noticed that notions of the "other" have become more
and more widespread in Turkey
The concept of a
Turkish Jew has "always been a question mark," Sarhon says. She
prefers to have multiple identities instead of trying to be one, since the idea
of Jews as citizens has never been culturally accepted by the Turkish. The Jews
segregate as well, according to Sarhon, viewing themselves as "we"
and the Turks as "them."
Sarhon has been
relieved to send her daughter off to a war zone, where she has just begun
studying at Tel Aviv University.
On the other hand,
the Şalom editor notices that even though anti-Semitism thrives
"deep inside" Turkish society, there has been a social media backlash
against hate speech.
Louis Fishman, an
Israeli-American professor living in Istanbul, has noticed the support Turkish
people provide after a wave of anti-Semitic language sweeps the media. After
Fishman wrote an article for the Israeli paper Haaretz, the Turkish professor Ali Ihsan Göker tweeted the response
"Treblinka will be ready soon. Constructing the railway to transport jews
at the moment." Fishman says social media has provided a "flip
side" by giving an outlet for Turks who support "all Turkish
citizens" to publicly defend Fishman and other threatened Jews. Reply
tweets call Goker's language "disgusting" and "shameful."
The government
clearly delineated Turkish Jews from the Israeli government on July 19 to
further support the community, when Erdoğan declared Jews to be "citizens
of this country." But despite this governmental intervention, Erdoğan
controls most of the local media and these outlets demonize the IDF. The
language is not as shocking as Goker's tweet and other stinging remarks on
Twitter and Facebook, but "you read between the lines," Fishman
explains. "Erdoğan is giving those editors a rubber stamp, moral support.
It was like a sea tide--Erdoğan was drawn into this defamatory language we read
now."
Like a sea tide,
Operation Protective Edge has washed up an animosity towards Israel and towards
Jews in Turkey, but this hatred does not have to be an assumed narrative. The
Czech Republic's calm waters show that effective leadership and press laws can
quell an anti-Semitic storm.
