I know of no one who is not beside themselves with anger, grief and disbelief at the suffering of the Palestinians, but I have also become aware of a difference in the way Jews who have living memories of the holocaust relate to what is happening from those who don’t.
For myself, I will never forget the day my mother got the news of her mother’s death. It was in a phone call from the Foreign Office. I was playing alone in the garden on the hump of the air-raid shelter when – the French doors were open – I heard the phone ring, and then my mother’s voice . . .
Corpses found by the Soviet authorities at the Klooga concentration camp after the Nazi German forces’ departure (late 1944) Image: Creative Commons
Nor have I been able to forget Ruti, daughter of my mother’s closest friend, who was raped before being murdered. The Germans kept meticulous records.
Is it a wonder that a nation which emerged out of those horrors feels the need not to let it happen again? Like David pitted against Goliath, what choice do they have other than to use their wits? And where are they supposed to go? Why would anywhere else be more welcoming?
No one seems to want us, and yet I can’t help thinking that I wouldn’t mind finding myself in some Never-Never land along with Jerry Seinfeld and Harpo Marx . . . I would happily attend lectures by Ernst Gombrich or Jacob Bronowski and sit, willingly if uncomprehendingly, at the feet of Albert Einstein.
And how thrilling it would be to catch a glimpse of Soutine or Rothko or Modigliani, my teenage favourite who does seem a little vapid now. Or hear Barenboim or Horowitz practising scales . . .
And what about Claudia Roden, Maurice Sendak and Art Spiegelman? The possibilities for great food and amusing company are endless and, going back a bit, I might have caught a glimpse of Freud or Marx, or even Jesus himself.
In this Nowhere land there would also be those I would want to avoid, Netanyahu most of all. Every time there is a financial scandal I heave a sigh of relief if the culprit isn’t Jewish. They usually are. Centuries of practice in banking have refined this extremely ugly skill. Uglier still are the doings of the sexual predators, too often wealthy members of my race.
But it takes all sorts, and there would have to be room for them too, because no other country wants to have any of us, not even Leonard Cohen or Amy Winehouse.
A world empty of Jews would certainly be a different and a quieter place. Maybe everyone will feel a lot better with us gone.
