Having trouble viewing this email? Click here        June 7, 2022 – 8 Sivan 5782

Par Rav Michael Ascoli
Il n’est pas facile de faire référence à des sources juives pour essayer d’établir quelle position on devrait adopter quant à l’invasion russe de l’Ukraine, si et avec quelle franchise se dresser contre la Russie en tant que juifs et en ce qui concerne Israël en tant qu’état. Le peuple juif a vécu dans des conditions d’oppression ou, du moins, de soumission pendant des siècles et, en général, il a dû penser à survivre sans pouvoir s’occuper d’autre chose. Le fait d’avoir son mot à dire dans la rampe internationale est une nouveauté qui nous confronte à de nouveaux défis. Toutefois, c’est notre mémoire historique récente qui devrait nous pousser à prendre une position explicite et à supporter ouvertement l’Ukraine, et notamment le rappel des survivants de la Shoah contre l’indifférence. Il y a deux considérations contraires qu’on entend souvent faire à cet égard: la première d’opportunité, selon laquelle il est mieux de ne pas s’exposer au vu de nombreux juifs qui vivent en Russie. La deuxième de mérite, vu que les Ukrainiens ont un lourd passé – et peut-être pas seulement un passé – antisémite. Donc, soyez prudents. Mais il n’y a qu’un pas entre la prudence et l’indifférence. Et surtout, nous ne sommes pas appelés à défendre seulement des “saints” tandis que des victimes en général. Rav J. Sacks résume ainsi la question : “Si quelqu’un est en danger, agissez! Ne vous arrêtez pas pour vous demander s’il s’agit d’un ennemi ou d’un ami. Faites comme Moïse quand il vit les pasteurs maltraiter les filles de Jéthro; ou comme Abraham quand il pria pour les gens des villes de la vallée”. Précisément à propos de Jéthro (Yitrò), dans le Talmud on trouve un midrash extrêmement significatif: “Seulement trois personnes étaient présentes à la consultation dans laquelle le pharaon décida de persécuter le peuple juif: Bilàm, Iyov e Yitrò. Bilàm, qui conseilla d’affliger le peuple juif, fut tué; Iyòv, qui resta en silence, fut condamné à souffrir terriblement; Yitrò s’enfuit et pour cette raison certains de ses descendants méritèrent de s’asseoir sur la Lishkàt haGzìt (à savoir ils firent partie du Grand Sanhédrin)” (TB Sotà 11a). Nous ne voulons pas ressembler à Bilàm, à Iyov non plus. L’exemple c’est Yitrò, l’homme qui a eu le courage de s’opposer au tyran et qui pour cette raison a été contraint de fuir la ville. C’est un exemple qui peut coûter, et pas qu’un peu, mais c’est le seul vertueux.
Un autre sujet qui doit être démonté est celui du judaïsme comme “religion de la paix”. Notre tradition est orgueilleusement riche en enseignements qui soulignent l’importance de la paix. Mais pas parce qu’il y ait un rejet absolu et préjudiciel de la guerre. Au contraire, quand la guerre est nécessaire, on combat. C’est ce qu’a fait Abraham, puis Jacob, David aussi – exemple d’un homme qui savait être un grand guerrier et un roi très sensible – puis les juifs à l’époque d’Esther, et ensuite les Maccabées jusqu’à des jours plus récents. Il est vrai, très vrai, que nous ne célébrons que le salut, jamais la victoire. Mais c’est une autre historie. Et il ne s’agit pas “seulement” d’Aggada. Les “normes des rois et des guerres” sont halakha pratique, codifiée depuis Rambam.

(Dans l’image, le dessin du dessinateur français Joann Sfar, qui dans ces semaines a raconté l’agression russe de l’Ukraine par ses travaux).

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The death of the writer Boris Pahor last week was a sad moment for all of us. One of the most important literary and intellectual voices of the 20th century and a sharp voice against Nazi-fascist crimes and communist repression, he was friend of the editorial staff of Pagine Ebraiche, whom he met several times through the years. Thus it was touching to see our interview shared by Forward, one of the most influential American Jewish publications.
The Slovenian author Boris Pahor, […] – writes Benjamin Ivry - proved that through mutual respect, ethnic minorities could preserve what distinguishes their identities and historical experiences. He explained to “Pagine Ebraiche,” the monthly magazine of the Union of Italian Jewish Communities, that his childhood years were spent in sight of, but also separate from, Jewish Trieste, associated with the poet Umberto Saba and the novelist Italo Svevo (Aron Hector Schmitz)”.
Pahor was born to a Catholic family in a house overlooking a Jewish school, and facing the old Jewish cemetery. Pahor’s young years were enriched by strolls through the historical Jewish ghetto, before it was vacated and partly demolished by Italy’s Fascist regime in 1937. During these walks, Pahor was lastingly enchanted by little shops redolent of a mixed aroma of coffee and fried fish. An even greater allure at other shops in the ghetto of Trieste were the vast numbers of inexpensive used books on sale, especially as European Fascism drove increasing numbers of Jews away from Germany and Eastern Europe. As Pahor put it, the Jewish “refugees brought with them a veritable treasure trove of books in all languages which were often sold before they departed for their ultimate destination, whether Palestine or the Americas.”
It is worth noting that The Forward linked a French translation of our reporting. It was by Francesca Angelucci and Alice Pugliese, students at the Secondary School of Modern Languages for Interpreters and Translators of the University of Trieste and interns at the newspaper office of the Union of the Italian Jewish Communities – Pagine Ebraiche.

(Drawing by Giorgio Albertini)

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“It can be said that in every house, even the most modest, there is in some corner a cabinet or a drawer full of good medicines for every discomfort. But it does not necessarily have to be even a modest shelf of books read and kept with love. The isolated houses do not even have one, and they are almost always the sad and soulless ones you see on the news, where crimes take place". So Miro Silvera, prolific writer, essayist, and refined intellectual, who died in Milan last week on his eightieth birthday. Born in Aleppo, Syria, he lived in Italy from the age of five. After having attended the Jewish school of Milan, he graduated at the Bocconi University in the economic-financial branch. Books were his passion. An avid reader, Silvera worked as a consultant for foreign fiction for the publisher Bompiani, translated several books from French and English, and wrote about cinema and literature.

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By Anna Foa

Surfing on Facebook, it struck me to find out how denialism, or at least one type of denialism, is constructed. Among countless examples, here is one. A long and important post, written by a famous writer who clearly took inspiration from the terrible picture from the NYT showing nine Ukrainian civilians in Bucha who, under the threat of Russian guns, are heading towards execution. As we all know, there is more to this. The following day, a video that demonstrates what happened after this picture was shot. And it shows the corpses of those nine Ukrainians lying on the ground. Below the post, delusional comments. Among those, the one of a woman who wrote: “And how do we know that they have killed them?”. I replied telling her that perhaps they were just playing hide-and-seek. I know I should not have replied, but I could not resist. Her reply was mind blowing: “Did you see them with your own eyes?” Of course not, because I was not in Bucha. But what does this mean? That you can only believe in what you see for yourself? And what if you hallucinate? How can you believe what you see? And in case there is a video? It may have been manipulated, of course. And if there are witnesses? There are no reliable witnesses. Witnesses can be forewarned, bought off, threatened. The reality no longer exists. It is more and more evident today, with this war in which denying any evidence, any testimony, any image of what is happening before our eyes and in front of the cameras is the most appealing narrative. The one that makes you believe you are different from the others, that you are not fooled by power, that you are complex, that you do not see the world in black and white

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A little-known Italian story of heroism and solidarity involving the Jews of Libya during the 1967 pogrom returned to the fore on Monday evening during an event in the Italian capital dedicated to employees of flagship carrier Alitalia and their descendants.

The chance was given by the distribution of a book entitled 'Fermi, non Sparate, Sono Walter!' ('Stop, Don't Shoot, I Am Walter!'), which details the life of Walter Arbib.

Arbib is a Jew who was born in a family of Libyan origins who became a successful businessman in Canada and a philanthropist of international fame.
The biography, written by the journalist Yossi Melman, who for years was the senior editor-in-chief of the Israeli daily Haaretz, narrates through the life of Arbib what happened in Libya in 1967 when the Six Days' War began and pogroms were carried out against the Jewish community in the country, which had been in the country for over 2,000 years.
Editor-in-chief of the Italian newspaper La Repubblica and moderator of the event Maurizio Molinari noted that Italians - with support from the Italian government and the active interest of Rome's chief rabbi, Elio Toaff - had helped Jews to flee a country that had become hostile.

*This article was originally published on Ansamed on May 10, 2022

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