However, my husband, our toddler daughter and I packed our bags for Basel in the north of Switzerland last year. We were convinced that moving to a German-speaking country would ease the transition, but even now, a year later, we are still trying to come to terms with the significant differences in culture and mentality of these neighboring countries. I am far away from really understanding Swiss-German – quite different from the standard German I speak – and commit social blunders wherever I go. Germany is so close that I can even take a streetcar there, and yet, we did leave the European Union. The move was followed by a period of euphoria about living in a place where three different countries share borders: France, Germany and Switzerland. Both countries being only ten minutes away from my apartment in the city center, I could buy my beloved dark bread in Germany and wine and cheese in France, which made me feel lavishly cosmopolitan.

During these days of international, multi-lingual delight in Basel, my three year-old daughter committed a small act of transgression. It happened in broad daylight, at the playground. She suddenly came running with a piece of black fabric squeezed between her fingers, and asked me why a child would wear such “silly hat“. Upon closer inspection, I saw that she was holding a kippah and soon discovered its crying owner. We attracted the wrath of a group of very angry, very orthodox mothers who were not prepared to believe that we were Jewish, too. In their world, every Jewish child would know better than to steal a kippah and use it to collect pebbles and leaves.

So why didn’t my daughter know better? The answer was simple: In Germany, mostly elderly men wore the kippah, and the place she’d seen them was in synagogue. She had never before encountered a child wearing a kippah on a playground. My own adult Jewish life in Germany had also been quite private and hidden behind the walls of Jewish institutions. Later it was focused on my activities within the Ernst Ludwig Ehrlich Scholarship Fund, a program for gifted Jewish Students. It was for this reason that during the first weeks in Basel, I was giddy with pleasure every time I met orthodox Jewish families on city playgrounds or at the zoo. The feeling only grew when I met observant men wearing their kippot to work or upon discovering that there was a quite decent selection of kosher wine in several supermarkets. I didn’t actually intend to buy it, but the possibility existed! At first, I was startled to hear people I barely knew shouting “Gut Shabbes“ at the top of their lungs across the street. It caught me by surprise just how liberating the visibility of Jewish life in Basel felt.

However, my enthusiasm soon suffered a reality check. During a Purim party gathering Jewish students and young adults, the conversation inevitably moved towards the topic of anti-Semitism in Europe. Especially us students from Germany were seen as crucial witnesses to a situation that was bound to worsen in time. Asked whether he felt safe wearing a kippah in Basel, an Israeli, who has lived in Basel for over a decade, replied, that indeed he felt safe, but that “They (the Swiss) don´t like us. They don’t like strangers in general. Especially us.“

Though his statement was bold and generalizing, he made an interesting point: A visible Jew remains a stranger amongst the tight-knit social circles in Switzerland. His kippah might not attract the questioning gazes or even dangerous attention it does in other European cities, but it marks him as a foreign element in the social structure of the city.

Yves Kugelmann, chief-editor of the Jewish weekly “Tachles“ described the Swiss anti-Semitism as dormant, but certainly palpable, especially when conflicts in the Middle East heat up (Neue Züricher Zeitung, 30.07.2014). It is because the anti-Semitism is latent, that it needs to be addressed more openly. A recent incident in the Swiss town of St. Gallen shows just how much work there still is to be done: A group of soccer fans mockingly chased a man dressed up as a cliché version of the Hasidic Jew through the streets after their club won the match. The management of the club had been informed about the nature of this event beforehand, but failed to react accordingly.

One could write a lot about historical predicaments of Jews in Switzerland: About the fact that it was the last Western European country which in 1874 gave Jewish citizens full legal emancipation. Or about those Jews, who were refused at the Swiss border during World War II, because they were not granted the status of political refugee (until 1944). But I will limit my account to personal impressions gathered during the last year. Of course Switzerland, as every other country where Jews live, has to deal with different forms of anti-Semitism. But this particular country didn’t experience the same profound disruption of Jewish life as Germany. Of course it wasn’t untouched by the horrors of the Holocaust, but the murderous isolation and systematic annihilation of European Jewry happened beyond the borders of the this neutral country, and it showed in the deep roots of many Jewish families in Switzerland.

There is a big comfort deriving from the fact that many of the families of my Jewish friends from Basel have been around here for over a century. That they haven’t suffered a family history of flight, emigration and violent death during World War II. I like the easy-going manner in which Jewish topics are addressed in public and the naturalness of Jewish life in this city. Talking about or with Jews in Germany can be difficult, and the topics and conversations can be stiff with the weight of history. The haunting past tends to be more important then the possibility of a bright and lively future for Jewish communities.

It took my moving to Switzerland to become more comfortable with my Jewish identity in public. A Swiss friend, one who considers the prohibition of kosher slaughter in Switzerland a scandal and complains about the marginal size of the kosher section in the super market, made a curious observation: Whenever I talked about myself, I would talk about me “being Jewish“ or my “Jewishness“. Not once did I simply say that I was a Jew. At first I dismissed this as a ridiculous observation. But soon enough I had to admit that he was right and that things had to change in order for me to get rid of the rigidity that stifled my speech for such a long time.

Upon further thought, the little incident at the playground appeared more and more like a parable. Whatever small act of childish pettiness happened that day, it happened because of ignorance. My daughter stole the kippah and laughed about it, because at that time, she didn’t know better. There are so many types of anti-Semitism and it is not my intention to generalize, but many acts of anti-Semitism I experienced in my life happened because people simply didn’t know much about Judaism or had never met a Jew before. So more then ever I felt obliged to tackle ignorance concerning Judaism that even made it´s way into my own home when I wasn’t watching.

During the last year I learned to appreciate the complexity of two Jewish worlds that lie so close to each other and yet are so different. I don’t deny the frustrating moments of being a Jew in Switzerland: The loneliness of being the only person who speaks no Hebrew in a room full of Jews or the lack of understanding towards people who came from Eastern Europe, not even knowing what being Jewish was supposed to mean. But the frequent sightings of big groups of people heading to the synagogue on Friday evenings or strolling through the city on Shabbat has, indeed, inspired me. I cherish the Shabbat mornings when we manage to get out of the house on time to join them, even though we are not a religious family. And I learned to laugh about the way people sometimes inquire where I got such a natural-looking wig, after they learn that I am Jewish.

Olga Osadtschy was born in Kiew (Ukraine) in 1985. She has lived, worked and studied in Germany, France and Italy and is currently a PhD candidate in history of art and media studies with the University of Basel. She is also an active member of the Ernst Ludwig Ehrlich Scholarship Fund for gifted Jewish Students (www.eles-studienwerk.de).

(Image: The city of Basel. Credit: Shutterstock/Arianda de Raadt)

The post The Visible Jew – Observations on Jewish Life Between Germany and Switzerland appeared first on Jewcy.

There can be no argument over facts, but the crux of the matter is how we fuse them into a distinct narrative and what that narrative does to our ability to change reality on the ground.

Europe is a wasteland. Anti-Semitism has reached a new historical pitch. European Jewry is in its terminal stage. Assimilate or emigrate.

In the last few years, I have repeatedly been exposed to this narrative and it would be dangerous and foolish to deny the facts upon which it rests. There is no question that anti-Semitism, fueled by the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression and unsuccessful integration policies that have failed to tackle social exclusion, has gone on the offensive in Europe with fatal results. The recent terror attacks at the HyperCacher kosher market in Paris and the synagogue in Copenhagen are cases in point.

There can be no argument over facts, but the crux of the matter is how we fuse them into a distinct narrative and what that narrative does to our ability to change reality on the ground. At their best, narratives become inspirational frameworks for action and empowerment. At their worst, narratives of failure transmute into self-fulfilling prophecies.

Beit Makhshava, the project I started two years ago, came into being out of a conviction that if there was to be a future for European Jewish life and culture, we needed an alternative to the narrative of victimhood and decline. At the same time, the challenge was to give birth to a voice that was rooted in a sober assessment of reality, and the point of departure was that the future of the Jewish presence in Europe is uncertain, for better or worse. Thus, Beit Makhshava was born with a clear agenda: to serve as an incubator for the conceptualization of the role of the Jewish presence in a rapidly changing Europe.

It is important to note that Beit Makhshava endeavors to look at the Jewish-European equation from both sides, as a way to understand Jewish life and culture in relation to the European context in which they are inscribed, but also as a way to read European current affairs from a text-based Jewish perspective. The programmatic goals of Beit Makhshava are only half of the story, though. The other half, without which Beit Makhshava would make no sense, was the idea to create a space for open discussion and reflection.

I am surely not the first one to claim that the pace of life has sped up substantially in the last two decades or so. Opportunities to work, travel, and communicate have been greatly increased and made accessible to the average citizen. The benefits of such developments are tangible, but they have come with a price. Arguably, a net loser in that operation has been the availability of spaces – both spatial and temporal – for unhurried discussion and reflection, what I would affectionately call “slow thinking.” In the near future, I wouldn’t be surprised if the non-Jewish world adopts a ‘lite’ version of theshabbes: the digital Shabbat, a day of rest for and from screens. In a similar vein, Beit Makhshava aims at providing a space where a minyan of participants can take a break from their daily lives and devote a week to learning, writing and discussion. That was the starting point for the retreat that Beit Makhshava organized last September in Glämsta, a summer camp located in the unique setting of the Swedish forests.

There is, it could be argued, an inherent tension between Beit Makhshava’s two main stated aims. On the one hand, it is a project with a clear agenda to foster creative thought bypassing narratives of victimhood and decline. On the other hand, it is a space for debate and deliberation that thrives in openness and lack of preconditions. But this tension is productive and fulfills a purpose. The constitutive elements for a new narrative cannot be created out of nothing – they must already have been recognized by the stakeholders.

Beit Makhshava is the place where those loosely linked ideas get a chance to crystallize into a larger, coherent whole. A remarkable example is the Glämsta Declaration, a four point document authored by the participants in the last Beit Makhshava retreat that calls for an overcoming of the centre/Diaspora dichotomy and seeks to reclaim the beit midrash as the main locus of Jewish life and culture.

It is our hope that 2015 will be the year where we harvest the fruits of the work from the Beit Makhshava retreat. We are planning an event in Brussels to officially present the Glämsta Declaration and discuss it with policymakers. We would like to invite European MPs and delegates from European Jewish organizations with representation in Brussels. We are currently looking for the necessary funding to make that possible.

We strongly believe that the time is ripe for a project such as Beit Makhshava. Europe is going through turbulent times, with the conflict in Ukraine threatening to escalate into an all-out war with Russia. The EU is not in a good shape either, with unbearable levels of youth unemployment in the Mediterranean basin and the rise of xenophobic and populist parties across the Union.

Fortunately, not everything is bad news. A new, more confident generation of cultured and well-traveled activists is taking the lead in the renewal of Jewish life and culture, often outside the established structures. The outcome of the complex and interrelated processes briefly outlined above will affect the ability of European Jewish life and culture to flourish, the magnitude of the opportunities and challenges lying ahead only matched by the amount of talent ready to be tapped.

Oriol Poveda is a PhD student in sociology of religion at Uppsala University, Sweden, and the founder of Beit Makhshava. 

This article originally appeared on EJewishPhilanthropy, February 19th 2015. It is republished here with permission of the author and EJewishPhilanthropy.

(Image: Jane Braden-Golay)

The post Last In Deed, First In Thought: Beit Makhshava and a New Jewish European Narrative appeared first on Jewcy.

I am excited about “Voices from Europe” because I see it as an opportunity to explore some of the core questions of Jewish peoplehood across communities, across the big pond and across different frames of reference. While I try to bring a variety of experiences and stories together, I’d also be really interested in hearing about what you want to know. Tweet at me and don’t be shy!

So without further ado:

1. Introducing JewSalsa

Meet David, Sterna and their friends, a group of young French Jews who have been mixing up the Jewish scene in France with their combo of Klezmer, Salsa and Oriental music, lots of dancing, flash mobs in downtown Paris and trips to Cuba and Israel all exploring and expressing a new spin on Jewishness!

They have been good friends of mine and my colleagues here at EUJS, teaching countless Jewish students the basics of Salsa and Bachata (or as they call it when done on a Friday night: Shabbachata!) and leading an incredible mash-up Havdala at our annual Summer University (more on that later). They also made a fun Shana Tova video (“Apple is dancing Salsa”) with our participants at Summer U’ 2012 in Budapest. They are definitively worth checking out… And if you find yourself in Paris, drop by one of their events!

2.  Is being hated just part of the deal?

I believe that the diversity of experiences, reactions and opinions about anti-Semitism in Europe and our future as a Jewish community here is connected to the fundamental question of how we understand what it means to be a Jew, and how we want to live as Jews. There are, of course, many different point of views and opinions on this.

One take is by author and broadcaster Michael Goldfarb, who concludes in this article about his personal experience with anti-Semitism in BBC Magazine that “(…) being hated is part of being Jewish.”

What do you think? What is part of being Jewish for you? Let me know @JaneBradenGolay!

3. Meanwhile, in communities across Europe:

Thousands are checking out the Jewish “return rights” in Portugal.

Italian city celebrates the reopening of their 13^th century Scolanova synagogue.

Local Muslims mobilize help to save Belgian synagogue, but also: Jewish students targeted by BDS activists on Belgian campus.

German Muslim leader says Jewish fears are “justified”.

(Image: David JewSalsa, www.jewsalsa.org)

The post What we talk about – Part 1 appeared first on Jewcy.

When I started telling people I was leaving Washington, DC for Brussels, Belgium, I received one of three responses. My cynical Republican friends would ask why would you leave the greatest nation in the world for a bastion of communism? (Admittedly, I started to wonder that myself after I received my first tax bill). Others would simply ask where is it? (A question that speaks wonderfully to the inferiority complex that Brussels has towards its fellow European capitals). But the most common response was how cool – you get to live in Europe!

That was the summer of 2009. Today, the responses are completely different.

When I now tell people I live in Brussels, the why is asked in the context of why would a Canadian Jew choose to live in Europe and the how in relation to the level of danger I face every day. Even the where question is less common as Brussels has become rather familiar to friends and family across the pond: “that’s where the Jewish Museum was attacked, right?” It is a tragic legacy for a truly wonderful city.

I get rather annoyed by this shift as it underscores a serious conceptual problem of how some see Europe today. My life in Europe (and I would argue that Jewish life in general) has become defined by one issue and one issue alone – anti-Semitism.  At least that is the case when back home in Canada or visiting the US.

The reality is so much more complex. I do question my long-term future here, but there are a range of reasons driving that assessment: Europe’s security infrastructure is beyond inadequate and has thus failed to deal with ISIS and the wave of fighters returning from Syria; it has failed to integrate immigrant populations; its economy is in shambles and the prospects are rather bleak; and, the EU is politically unstable and its future uncertain (I’m being kind here). I could go on.

Anti-Semitism is linked to some of these challenges and independent from others. It is part of the overall calculus, but it is not the single defining issue for me.

Why? I could speak at length about the reasons why the situation will eventually improve in Europe, but there is one constant that trumps all those arguments: anti-Semitism will never disappear. It remains nascent or near that at times, yet it is always present.

I was raised in Toronto, Canada, a generally peaceful place where Jewish institutions all take daily security measures and synagogues have a police presence on the high holidays (with regular security the rest of the time). I lived in Washington, DC for three years at a time when John Mearsheimer and Stephen Walt published their conspiratorial book The Israel Lobby and U.S. Foreign Policy (incidentally, I worked for two of the named organizations). I studied in Israel for two years, during the second Intifadah, where I was constantly in danger. Indeed, I wrote my dissertation on the use of anti-Semitic imagery in Egyptian political cartoons during the conflict. I’ve seen hatred everywhere.

Interestingly, the most anti-Semitic encounter I have had with a person in Europe was with an American – a fellow student – who repeatedly argues that Jews control the US government and that we are all rich (my student budget really wishes the latter was true).

Perhaps it is the Jewish historian in me (I’ve spent 6 years studying that field), but anti-Semitism has always been present. It has gone through its ebbs and flows throughout the centuries and it has taken many forms. I have no doubt it will continue to do so. Policies and laws can certainly be adopted to remove the most violent elements of the hatred, even curb its mass appeal. Yet the regrettable, simple truth is that it will always be there.

So when people tell me the Jews should leave Europe, I have trouble accepting it. It is such a simple response, but fleeing from Europe is not going to solve the problem. If the Jews leave, attacks will not stop. They will manifest in other forms and in other places. It is tragically only a matter of time.

Thus, I think the best way forward is to work towards improving the situation (undoubtedly you will hear more about efforts to do so on this site of the next few weeks). It’s scary and troubling, but it is not hopeless and it really is the only option we have.

I may well leave Europe one day, but I doubt that if you ask me why the response will be “because of anti-Semitism.”

Joshua Goodman is a Brussels-based radio host and an LLM candidate in Public International Law at the University of Kent, Brussels. He’s also a big hockey and rugby fan. Follow him on Twitter @lumber_josh.

(Image: The Jewish Museum of Brussels after the terror attack on May 24th 2014. Credit: skyfish / Shutterstock.com)

The post A Threat With No Escape appeared first on Jewcy.

Europe is so many things, and Jews, too, are so many things. I have had the very good fortune of diving into all this over the past couple of years, as president of the European Union of Jewish Students. And I can tell you, it overwhelms me and my colleagues time and time again. From Sweden to Macedonia, France to Lithuania, Bulgaria to Portugal: Stories of great pain and loss, stories of pride and confidence, stories of rediscovery and creation. Stories of joy and belonging.

The Jews and Europe.

We are knowingly launching Voices from Europe today, on Purim. Former Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes: “There are so many parts of the world today where ancient grievances are still being played out, as if history were a hamster wheel in which however fast we run we find ourselves back where we started. Purim is a way of saying, remember the past, but then look at the children, celebrate with them, and for their sake, put the past behind you and build a better future.”

Europe. Anti-Semitism. “Oh, you two know each other? Come on, just between you and me: Will things between you ever change?”

Whoever builds the future here in Europe will be giving the answer to that.

Over the next couple of weeks, “Voices from Europe” will share stories and opinions of young Jews living in Europe. I hope you will gain a sense of the texture of Jewish life, the individuals shaping their Jewish communities and the hopes, fears and frustrations of young Jews. To be clear: I will not shield you from the tough stuff, the very real difficulties and dilemmas so many of us are facing. That is part of the at-times seemingly paradox coexistence of heartbreak and hope here in Europe. Being Jewish in Europe can be about redefining a Jewish community’s place in society with full confidence in what we have to offer. It can be about feeling great when you’re doing Jewish things. It can be about awakening those around us to the Jewish heritage of their city and society, and inviting them to embrace it. It can be a deep exploration of meaning, purpose and obligation. It can be about family, friends, and love. This list is – of course – not exhaustive.

Expect posts every other day or so, by yours truly and other contributors. Also, be prepared for pop-quizzes about European Jewry, and the “Swiss-German word of the day” (It’s like German, but better.) Find me on Twitter @JaneBradenGolay – But keep the time difference in mind. Dankeschön, and see you around!

Jane Braden-Golay is president of the European Union of Jewish Students.

(Photo: Love Blomquist)

The post Presenting: Voices from Europe appeared first on Jewcy.