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Notes from a cliff-edge

Israel? Meh ...

5/6/2026

 
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It’s not every day you read a book and think, ‘goodness me, I never thought of that’. But that’s what happened when I read David Baddiel’s ‘Jews Don’t Count’.
 
What hadn’t I thought?
 
Well, let’s start with the acronym BAME. This stands for Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic. Baddiel points out that Jews are an ethnic minority - and proceeds to give dozens of examples of how they are neither considered nor treated as such.  Here’s just one example of this invisibilisation: ‘in Britain, recently, Sajid Javid was hailed as the first BAME Chancellor of the Exchequer, despite the fact that Margaret Thatcher’s Chancellor Nigel Lawson was and is Jewish’ (p.52; ‘was’ is now more appropriate: Lawson died in 2023).
 
So that’s what hadn’t occurred to me: I knew that Jews were an ethnic minority but to be honest I’d never noticed how invisible they were in the Nigel Lawson sense, or thought that they should be treated like other, ‘better known’, ones.
 
Baddiel is wearily familiar with this position, which is that there’s effectively a hierarchy of racism and that anti-Jew discrimination is a ‘second-class’ racism.
 
I’m guilty as charged.
 
So why are Jews denied the special treatment afforded other ethnic minorities. Are they too white? That can’t be it because ‘Jews are not white. Or not quite. Or, at least they don’t always feel it’ (p.43). Because they’re wealthy? No, because not all Jews are rich and anyway, ‘fuck off about money’ (p.27) because ‘it doesn’t protect you against racism’ (p.27).
 
So it seems there’s no good reason why a) Jews shouldn’t be regarded as an ethnic minority on a par with others, and b) they shouldn’t receive the treatment afforded other ethnic minorities.
 
So far, so persuaded.
 
Two comments on all this.
 
First, Jews in the UK are now receiving some of the special treatment they’ve been demanding. As a downpayment (literally), the UK government has earmarked £25m for increased security for Jewish communities, and London’s Metropolitan Police has announced a new dedicated Community Protection Team of initially 100 extra officers for the protection of Jews. This brings the Jewish community into line with Muslims who two years ago were granted £117m over four years for the protection of religious sites and community buildings.
 
Second, while Baddiel’s argument about Jews being a BAME has stuck with me, so has this two-word comment: ‘Israel? Meh’ (p.93). This comes when he’s discussing the question of whether he should care more for the plight of Palestinians because he’s a Jew.  
 
Winding back a couple of pages, Baddiel asks, isn’t most of this ‘new Jew-hatred actually about Israel’ (p.90) and its oppressive practices? ‘Well, yes, they are,’ he writes, ‘but I kind of think: Fuck Israel. I call Israel, on Twitter, stupid fucking Israel, which tends to upset some Jews, but it isn’t really a comment on the country itself. It’s more to do with the debate, the way that everything anyone says about that subject so quickly gets drawn into the stupid fucking shouting match’ (pp.90-91; my emphasis).
 
So he’s criticising Israel - except that he’s not. What he’s really criticising is the annoying way people keep wanting to call Israel, its government and its army to account when they should skip past all that and focus on what really matters, which is the treatment of Jews in the UK (in particular). Does Baddiel care about the Palestinians? Of course he does: ‘I do care, but not more than I care about the Rohingya, or people suffering in Syria … etc etc’ (p.92).
 
Should he care more about the Palestinians than other suffering peoples? No, he says, ‘because that smacks of something weird. It smacks of an idea that somehow Jews - non-Israeli Jews - must apologise for Israel: that Jews - non-Israeli Jews - should feel a little bit ashamed of Israel’ (92). Baddiel says that ‘Israel [has] done many things to be ashamed of. But here’s the thing: I am not responsible for those actions’, so ‘Me, I think, Israel? Meh’ (p.93; my emphasis).
 
Note what Baddiel has done here: with a stroke of his pen he’s undermined the increasingly accepted practice of present generations accepting responsibility for past generations’ misdeeds and making appropriate reparations.
 
So I wonder what he makes of the 1949 German law that established legal pathways for descendants of Jews who lost their citizenship during the Nazi regime to reclaim their German citizenship? Subsequent immigration law amendments have strengthened that commitment to recognise past injustices and make appropriate reparations - despite the fact that present generations of Germans had nothing to do with the Nazi persecution of Jews between 1933 and 1945.
 
Then there’s the Spanish government’s 2015 decision to grant citizenship to 72,000 descendants of Sephardic Jews expelled from Spain over 500 years ago by King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen Isabella of Castile. Has the Spanish government gravely misunderstood the nature of responsibility? 
 
And there’s more.
 
Baddiel’s claim that the fact that he’s a non-Israeli Jew (repeated twice, so it’s obviously important to his argument) absolves him of any particular responsibility for commenting on the actions of the Israeli government is not only counter-intuitive but also an ignoring of the kind of fact that in most ethical schemes makes a difference to the question of responsibility.
 
It’s this: as a Jew, he will know that the state of Israel calls itself the state of the ‘Jewish people’ and is the ‘collective property of the “Jews of the world”’ (from Shlomo Sand’s ‘How I stopped being a Jew’, p.1). As a Jew, in most ethical schemes this ties Baddiel more closely to Israel than to Myanmar, Kurdistan, Syria or Burkina Faso - where his ethical commitments might indeed be regarded as less strong.
 
In the face of all this, how are we to read Baddiel’s refusal to care (much) about Palestinians, about Gaza? Maybe he’s just a non-committal kind of guy. Maybe he’s heartless. Maybe he approves of the murder of tens of thousands of children. We just don’t know.
 
Twitter is full of suggestions that the rise in anti-Jewish and anti-Semitic sentiment in the UK would be lessened by Jews making clear their opposition to the actions of the IDF and the Israeli government. It’s also full of posts by Jews saying that this position/stance/demand is racist. So there’s a standoff, and in the meantime Palestinians in their thousands across Israel and Lebanon continue to die and be displaced.
 
But Israel? Well … meh.

When yesterday is today

5/6/2026

 
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Stefan Zweig's 'The World of Yesterday'.

There is so much one could write about this extraordinary memoir: the roll-call of twentieth-century personalities that Stefan Zweig met and knew, the searing honesty of his reflections on the callow but very fortunate youth he was when he came into contact with ‘the real world’ (even before the events that were to turn Europe and much of the rest of the world upside down), music, education, gender relations, the role of women, the array of countries he visited and his assessment of their benefits and drawbacks, his views on Theodor Herzl, founder of modern political Zionism. This is a remarkable life, beautifully told.


But what struck me most about it, page after page, was the uncanny similarity between the accelerating slide to geopolitical disaster he describes and the chaotic situation we are living through today. I ended up reading ‘The World of Yesterday’ as a long cautionary note about The World of Today.

Zweig was born in 1881, an Austrian, a Jew, writer, humanist, pacifist - and victim of the volcanic changes that took place in the first 40 or so years of the twentieth century. ‘Against my will,’ he writes, ‘I’ve been witness to the most terrible defeat of reason and the most savage triumph of brutality in the whole of history.’ Looking around, we might be forgiven for thinking that, hyperbole apart, brutality again reigns supreme while reason is stuffed away at the back of the spice rack.

Analysing the reasons for the catastrophic world wars that marked the first half of the twentieth century, Zweig lays much of the blame at the door of nationalism. He writes that he’s ‘experienced revolution, hunger, devaluation, terror, epidemics, emigration, fascism in Italy, national socialism in Germany, Bolshevism in Russia, and above all the pestiferous plague of nationalism’.

From ‘America First’ to Brexit and the right-wing mobilisation of nationalist sentiment, we’re presently assailed by similar forces, designed to tear apart the fragile arrangements that keep centrifugal tendencies in check. He talks of the ‘thin layer’ of liberal impulses, so susceptible to the collapse of conciliation, and the ‘invasion of politics by brute force’. Ring any bells?

He writes that, ‘In spite of everything we all persisted with the illusion that one’s word was one’s word, that an agreement was an agreement and that one could negotiate with Hitler if one talked with him sensibly … The new Germany was overturning all the rules of the game as far as relations with other countries were concerned, as well as any legal frameworks that didn’t suit it.’ As Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu make a diabolical habit of saying one thing and doing another, riding roughshod over international law and apparently free to do so, the parallels are obvious. ‘Hitler turned lies into an everyday occurrence’, says Zweig. More chilling parallels.

Another theme is the rapidity with which everything can fall apart, how a settled and peaceful life can be turned upside down practically without warning. On the very eve of what was to become the First World War, the beaches and restaurants were full, then they were shared with soldiers carrying rifles, and then they were empty.

And Zweig experienced this calamity not once but twice. Here he is on events as Hitler came into power: ‘To tell the absolute truth I have to admit that in Germany and Austria in 1933 and 1934 we didn’t think that a hundredth or even a thousandth of what would happen a few weeks later was possible’. Part of the reason for this, Zweig tells us, is that no-one took the looming threats seriously. In particular, Hitler was a figure of fun who everyone took for a buffoon and who would disappear from the stage once he was rumbled for what he was: a narcissistic rabble-rouser whose flame would soon burn out once reason prevailed. ‘Our belief in reason, that its use would help us avoid all the madness at the last moment, was our only mistake … Our idealism, our optimism, rooted in decades of progress, led us to underestimating and badly misjudging the oncoming danger’. More bells ringing?

In a final echo of today Zweig writes unbelievingly of how quickly and profoundly cruelty and brutality can be normalised, with barely a shrug of the shoulders from the international community. ‘In 1938', he says, ‘our world was already more used to inhumanity, anarchy and brutality than for hundreds of years. While in the before times what happened in the unfortunate city of Vienna would have been enough to provoke international ostracism, in 1938 the world’s conscience either remained silent or grumbled a little before forgetting and forgiving’.

It’s impossible to read these words without thinking of what’s been going on in Gaza, the West Bank and Lebanon since October 7th 2023 (well, since long before that but hopefully the point is taken). Blind eye after blind eye has been turned by leaders across the world as the genocidal regime run by Benjamin Netanyahu, and apparently supported by a good majority of the Israeli population, has murdered tens of thousands of men, women and children and displaced (again and again) tens of thousands more.

No-one who reads ‘The World of Yesterday’ can say we haven’t been warned about the dangers of ignoring evil when it’s staring us in the face. The evil that, in the end, did for Stefan Zweig. A few days after finishing the manuscript he and his second wife committed suicide in the city of Petrópolis in Brazil.

They were found holding hands.

    Andrew Dobson

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