In 2001, I, like many other Jews, awakened to the fact that antisemitism was not a relic of the past but a current event. In late August of that year, we watched on TV as protesters harassed Jews at the U.N. World Conference against Racism in Durban, South Africa. It was a surreal moment. Men and women who prided themselves on their staunch opposition to all forms of racism assaulted Jews and shouted antisemitic slurs, flaunting signs, posters, and leaflets emblazoned with antisemitic stereotypes and myths. Although most people at the conference did not participate in those outbursts, very few spoke out against the assaults or the blatantly racist rhetoric.
On September 11, just two days after the Durban conference ended, 19 men hijacked four passenger planes; they flew two of the planes into the World Trade Center in New York City and one into the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. The fourth crashed into a field in Pennsylvania. Despite the fact that al-Qaeda took credit for the attacks, rumors claiming that “the Jews” were responsible spread like wildfire. Far too many people believed the lie simply because they saw it on the Internet or heard about it in the media.
In the months that followed, there would be more rumors and more attacks on Jews. Antisemitism was on the rise once again. For me, it was a sobering realization. I was not a stranger to antisemitism, personally or professionally. Although the word was rarely used when I was growing up in northwest Indiana, I knew that a hatred of Jews stood at the heart of many of the stories my parents and grandparents told, and those stories in turn were reinforced by my own experiences as a Jewish child in an overwhelmingly Christian community.
Antisemitism has also played a significant role in my professional life as senior writer at Facing History and Ourselves. Indeed, not long after the events of September 11, Margot Stern Strom, the founder of Facing History and its executive director, asked me to write a series of lessons about modern-day antisemitism for our website to supplement our work on the historical roots of antisemitism. The project heightened my awareness of this ancient hatred.
At about this time, philanthropist Leonard Stern came to Facing History with an idea for a book that would trace the history of antisemitism from ancient times to the present. It would allow us to expand the scope of the work we were already doing and deepen our understanding of this pernicious hatred. I was asked to be the author with Margot as my primary editor, a role she plays on almost every project.
From the start, the book was firmly rooted in the mission of Facing History and Ourselves. For more than 35 years, the organization has been helping people of all ages confront the events that led to the Holocaust—a history that raises profound questions about the nature of evil, the power of stereotypes and myths, and the importance of prevention. A Convenient Hatred: The History of Antisemitism evolved in large part from those questions. Like other Facing History publications, the book uses memorable stories to link the past to the moral questions we face today, foster empathy, and promote thoughtful conversations. In confronting the complexities and nuances of this history, we had to choose which stories to cover and what to emphasize, and that is always tricky. Our aim was not to include every incident but to feature moments where there might have been a different outcome. The hope is to sensitize the reader to this history and to encourage further investigation. This book is in many ways a primer. There will always be people who would have made different choices.
As I researched the book, I came across a memoir by Meyer Levin, an American war correspondent during World War II. In the spring of 1945, he witnessed the consequences of German antisemitism at a recently liberated concentration camp. After describing the horrors he saw on his tour, he concluded, “This was the source of the fear and guilt in every human who remained alive. For human beings had had it in them to do this, and we were of the species.”1 His words served as a powerful reminder that antisemitism is not just a Jewish story or even a European one, but it is a human story that touches us all. He also helped me understand that we cannot overcome this hatred or any other until we face it. This book provides a starting point. The more we know about the characteristics of antisemitism, how it has been adapted to new situations, and the ways it has been transmitted from place to place and generation to generation, the more likely we are to find ways to end it.
As I studied this ugly, hateful history, I encountered in every age men and women who dared to challenge the conventional wisdom, resist efforts to demonize and dehumanize Jews, and courageously choose uncomfortable truths over convenient lies. Their stories led me to wonder why such individuals have always been so few in number and, most importantly, why antisemitism has persisted despite their heroic efforts to end it.
The writings of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, a noted Jewish scholar, provided one answer to those questions. He noted, “[T]he Holocaust did not begin with the building of crematoria, and Hitler did not come to power with tanks and guns; it all began with uttering evil words, with defamation, with language and propaganda.” He believed that such words, “once having been uttered, gain eternity and can never be withdrawn.”2
Nevertheless, no one is born knowing those words. As Facing History has long taught, hatreds are learned, and because they are learned, neither antisemitism nor any other hatred is inevitable. People learn to fear and to hate in much the way they learn every other part of their culture. They are taught directly and indirectly, consciously and unconsciously, in small places close to home. Those teachings are often bolstered by the media and by various groups in a society, sometimes overtly and sometimes very subtly. Once the stereotypes and myths have become firmly embedded in an individual, an institution, or a classroom, it has always been relatively easy for a ruler, a general, a charismatic preacher, a rabble-rouser, or a disgruntled neighbor to get a crowd going. All that is needed is a crisis, and suddenly the cry is heard: “The Jews are to blame!”
As Margot read and reread chapters, she pointed out the role such individuals have played in keeping that hatred alive. They seemed to regard antisemitism as a convenient way of uniting their own followers and recruiting new ones by turning “us” against “them.” It also allowed them to divert attention from their own shortcomings by scapegoating “the Jews.”
My efforts to trace this history took me to a number of libraries (Facing History’s own collection as well as the specialized ones I found at places such as Hebrew College and Harvard University). I also used the Internet to follow current reporting related to antisemitism and to explore a variety of archives now available online. The more I read, the more questions I had. I began to meet with scholars in the United States and in Israel, where I studied for a time at Yad Vashem. These early efforts were helpful in creating a working outline of the book as well as in gathering a team of advisers to ensure its accuracy and integrity. Such noted scholars as Yehuda Bauer, Michael Berenbaum, Lawrence Langer, and John Stendahl read and critiqued outlines and early drafts as well as the final manuscript. They did not always agree with one another or with everything I wrote, but their strong opinions and wise recommendations strengthened the book and deepened my understanding of this important history.
A number of other scholars reviewed portions of the manuscript and offered suggestions related to their areas of expertise. Among them were Paula Fredriksen, who shared her knowledge of early Judaism and Christianity; Mary C. Boys, who consulted with us on the history and teachings of the Roman Catholic Church; and Ahmed al-Rahim, who advised us on the history and teachings of Islam.
Throughout our work on this book, Leonard Stern has been an amazing partner. He was incredibly patient with the lengthy process of researching, writing, and revising chapters. He was also more than willing to share his considerable knowledge of publishing in general and this history in particular. Most importantly, he encouraged us to tell this important story from our perspective in our voice.
As the manuscript took shape, Margot invited Seth Klarman, the chair of our board of directors, and a group of our colleagues to read the book. Their suggestions, questions, criticisms, and concerns influenced the final product in small ways and large. So did helpful comments from other interested educators and theologians. As the book neared completion, Margot began to involve Facing History’s entire staff and board in the work. They too raised questions and offered meaningful advice.
The deep conversations that resulted from these reviews turned the process into a true Facing History experience. As always, the goal was not to agree on every point but to expand our understanding of this important history and its impact on our own identities. It is only through a deep confrontation with a particular history that we gain insights into universal themes. My hope is that this book will spark more insights, further conversation, and additional learning. Only by facing history and ourselves can we begin to meet the challenges of the present and build a more just and tolerant future.
Phyllis Goldstein