Until last month, I’d never experienced direct antisemitism. That’s not including the general onslaught of those who want to destroy us and accuse us of running world’s media. If we really did run the media then I would have more YouTube subscribers.
The worst in-person racism took place seven years ago, and had all the force of an emaciated environmental protester eating a slice of iceberg lettuce after a three-week hunger strike. It happened at a dingy test center in a characterless strip mall somewhere east of Los Angeles, where I had gone to my C-Best qualification for substitute teaching in high schools where you need two bulletproof vests, go through Columbian-level security, and make sure your last will and testament is up to date before you leave for work. The elderly Asian man administering the test center saw my kippah and said “I see you are Jewish. Is it true all Jewish people are rich?” “I wish,” I responded. “If I was rich, I definitely wouldn’t be here testing for substitute teaching.”
Fortunately I had a headband on which hid my shiny Jewish horns.
He seemed a kind man with a sweet energy, and it was a genuine question because he had never met a Jew. The Rabbis teach that we should judge people favorably, and he was more of an Accidental Antisemite. Ultimately I never did the teaching because better-paying work came in. Thank goodness we Zionists control the global money supply.
The antisemitic motherlode landed this year, and I’ve just spent two afternoons in Colindale Police Station, a branch of the Metropolitan Police in North London. I had judged someone favorably, but after a year-long campaign of racist text messages, all favorability had dissipated.
The antisemitic motherlode landed this year, and I’ve just spent two afternoons in Colindale Police Station, a branch of the Metropolitan Police in North London. I had judged someone favorably, but after a year-long campaign of racist text messages, all favourability had dissipated.
The person is a non-Jewish man from Poland who lives in Britain and a former friend. Over the years we had spent time discussing life, sharing drinks, comparing cultures, and he even has a mezuzah on his front door that was left by the previous owner. He had come to Shabbat dinners, attended my play “Elijah: First Action Hero” and showed interest in Kabbalah. But then a switch flipped.
It began with anti-immigrant texts, focused on people with dark skin, complaining that you can’t use the N-word like “in good old days [sic],” and blaming it on “Lefties gone weird.” While there’s a cornucopia of linguistic insanity to blame on pronoun-mad trigger-happy-trigger-warning lefties, avoiding the N-word is not one of them. I did my best to keep things calm, since we would continue seeing each other in a work context.
Things went too far when antisemitism began. He was upset because I didn’t support him in a dispute with a neighbor, and threatened to bad-mouth me across Poland. His text said, “I can reach 2,500-4,000 friends in Poland to express my discontent on You as a kosher [man] …”
I quenched my ego and refrained from writing “Only 4,000 people? I write for The Los Angeles Jewish Journal. We reach over 400,000 people on Friday mornings before the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard. Our website has over 4 million hits every week. I’ll 1000x your threat. Rookie move!” I also refrained from sending a press release to London’s Jewish Chronicle newspaper, the oldest Jewish paper in the world, with the headline “Polish man in London threatens Jewish man with libel in Poland on eve of 80th Auschwitz Anniversary.” Stories of local antisemitism are catnip for the Jewish press, but I made like Queen Elsa and let it go.
Nothing seemed awry when he then sent a link to the song “Hey Jude,” accompanied with a thumbs up and the comment “Good song.” But then he texted the picture of a book cover with a portrait of Hitler, titled “Why Did Hitler Hate The Jews?,” and the comment “I’m sure he had 6 million reasons to be right.” “Hey Jude” morphed from Paul McCartney’s voice to the call of Nazi officers, and “Jude” written in the middle of yellow stars in Weimar Germany and wartime Poland.
I politely asked him why he had sent it. “Picture ment [sic] to be friends only. By mistake fwd on Yours … read the book carefully as study/delicate opinions suggest that was ‘two sides of wrongs.’” He implied the antisemitic material was only for his non-Jewish friends in Poland, and that Jews were also responsible for the Holocaust.
My trips to the police station were eye-opening, as was registering a hate crime with CST, the UK’s Jewish Community Security Trust.
The police said they would arrest him, but I immediately requested to withdraw the case. He needs a reprimand rather than incarceration, is a talker rather than a doer, and I don’t want to wreck his life. There was no threat or history of physical violence, he has been kind over the years, but his racist campaign has to stop. Perhaps he’s just an unreconstructed old-school racist Pole for whom this is culturally acceptable. The policewoman said it was too late to withdraw the evidence and stop the case since it was already reported, but she noted that I would refuse to testify if it ever got to court. I believe he is ultimately a good man, just misguided.
It’s also ironic that he complains about immigrants to Britain when he is also an immigrant.
The Rabbis teach we should judge people for the good, but the Kabbalists talk about how this has its limits. Excess lovingkindness (chesed) is damaging, and there is a time for gevurah – limits and discipline.
The incident is frustrating and disturbing, but this year I’ve spent extended time with Nova festival survivors and wounded Israeli soldiers. Perspective is everything.
Things could be worse, but sometimes we have to say “enough already.”
Marcus J Freed lives in Los Angeles and London, and is currently rehearsing his new play “Marcus Is Alive: One Crazy Night in LA”. www.marcusjfreed on on IG @marcusjfreed
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