The Attic

Last week a Jewish artist friend of mine posted a drawing of the photo on X and a commenter went viral for the succinct and cutting remark: “Now here are some guys who really were stabbed in the back.”

An estimated 100,000 German Jews donned military uniform between 1914 and 1918; around 78,000 served on the front line; 30,000 received decorations; 12,000 died for their country.

By the mid-1930s, it was clear to Jewish veterans that, to the Nazis, Germany wasn’t their country at all. Ultimately, they shared the fate of the rest of their Jewish brethren: no number of war medals could offer any protection from the concentration camps.

In the wake of the antisemitic ­Bondi Beach Hanukkah massacre, which resulted in the murder of 15 people, including a Holocaust survivor and a 10-year-old girl, I saw the echoes of that betrayal in the anguish of the Australian Jewish ­community.

Victoria Teplitsky, the daughter of a Holocaust survivor who was wounded in the massacre, spoke on camera about how Jews in Australia had experienced “a massive change” in attitude towards them. She achingly pleaded: “I’m Aussie, I’m Aussie, you know.”

Holding her photo close to his chest in front of a crowd, the father of the 10-year-old girl who was murdered said: “We came here from Ukraine… and I named her Matilda because she was our firstborn in Australia. And I thought Matilda was the most Australian name that could ever exist. So just remember — remember her name.” He then broke down and turned to his wife.

The Australian Jewish community are loyal Australians, and they were inexcusably betrayed. Teplitsky placed partial responsibility on the ­Australian media’s biased reporting for the explosion in hostility Australian Jews had experienced; Matilda’s ­parents have said the Australian ­government “failed” their daughter.

This profound betrayal is ­something Jews across the diaspora are experiencing. A few years ago, I dated a fiercely proud American Jewish Democrat from New York.

He has since become despondent due to the betrayal of his liberal political allies, remarking to me in the lead-up to the latest US presidential election: “I don’t feel like my fate is bound that closely to anyone except Jews, I look on American politics as an outsider.”

Ireland is no exception to this trend of societies turning their backs on loyal Jewish citizens. Maurice Cohen, chairman of the Jewish Representative Council of Ireland, relayed the words of one of his best friends to the Oireachtas in July: “I always thought of myself as an Irishman, who ­happened to be Jewish. Now I know I am just a Jew, living in Ireland.”

The perception of Jews as being morally alien was brought into stark focus with the malicious attempt by Dublin City Council members to change Herzog Park’s name against the wishes of the local community.

Perhaps even more revealing was the astonishingly conspiratorial rhetoric from councillors after the proposal was dismissed on a legal technicality. It was breathtaking to witness councillor after councillor go on ­unchallenged rants spouting tropes of Jewish control and money.

One expressed his opinion that “Israeli intelligence” had called the Taoiseach telling him to dismiss the proposal (I think Israeli intelligence have more pressing matters to contend with). Another branded the ­objections to the motion as a “full-court press by the Zionist lobby”.

The campaign against the name change (“Hands Off Herzog Park”) was a successful grassroots one led online by members of the Irish Jewish community and allies. We are not a foreign intelligence or lobbying entity. We are equal children of this nation, just as Chaim Herzog himself was.

When Herzog inspected a guard of honour at Dublin Airport in 1985 during a state visit as Israeli president, the Irish Army band played both the Irish and Israeli national anthems, just as the Irish Jewish community did at our October 7 commemoration this year.

On the second night of Hanukkah, the Irish Jewish community gathered at Herzog Park to light the Hanukkah menorah and we were honoured to have Chaim’s granddaughter, Dr Alexandra Herzog, with us for the ceremony. She spoke about how Ireland was not merely a pit-stop for her grandfather. Rather, it was the country — his country — that shaped who he was.

Speaking to Alexandra, I told her something I have had to say to myself many times over the past two years: “You’re Irish, too.” Irish history and identity belongs to us just as much as it belongs to the councillors who sought to erase Irish-Jewish memory.

On the seventh night of Hanukkah, the Irish Jewish community and friends gathered at Mansion House to light the menorah. We heard an emotive speech by the granddaughter of another esteemed Jewish man and Irish patriot: former TD and Dublin Lord Mayor Robert Briscoe. Vivienne Briscoe spoke about how proudly Irish the Briscoe family were and are: Robert was named after Robert ­Emmet; his brother after Wolfe Tone.

At the close of her speech, ­Vivienne said she hoped her grandfather would be proud of her. I have no doubt that he would be, but would he be proud of Ireland in this moment?

Would he be proud that the Irish Jewish community now feels intimidated out of public life despite his own significant contributions in this domain? Would he be proud that a litmus test is placed on Jews in Irish society — denounce connection to the Jewish ancestral homeland or face ­ostracisation? Would he be proud that, against the opinions and experiences of the Irish Jewish community for whom this hatred targets, there is widespread denial that there is an ­antisemitism problem here at all?

An Ireland Thinks poll for the Sunday Independent conducted last week asked: “Do you believe Ireland has an ­antisemitism problem?” Only 21pc responded “yes”, with a shocking 70pc voting “no” and 9pc voting “don’t know”. What I would say to that 70pc is: why are you denying the lived experiences of your Irish Jewish brothers and sisters? Why is the majority of Ireland not listening to its own people?

I think often of the quote by ­Polish communist Isaac Deutscher, who stated after the Holocaust that he had “long since abandoned my anti-­Zionism, which was based on a confidence… in European society and civilisation, which that society and civilisation have not justified”.

In refusing to listen and accept the concerns of its Jewish sons and daughters, Irish society has punctured the confidence that many of us had in this great nation and, indeed, has strengthened the case for Zionism.

“Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country” is a famous phrase by yet another esteemed son of Ireland. This is a value the Jewish community have lived by since their arrival here in the 1600s. It is not too much to ask for one thing in return: listen.