Posted on November 30, 2021

When I decided to create a niche publishing company that combined my interests in Jewish literature with American civilization, I wanted a name that blended these two pursuits. So I traveled back more than two centuries, to August 21, 1790, and a letter from President George Washington. Although the experience of Jews as a group in America had been markedly different from and superior to their lives in Europe, it wasn’t until that long-ago summer day that America’s Jews could begin to internalize the favorable effects of the Enlightenment in practical terms. Responding to an earlier congratulatory missive written by the head of a Rhode Island synagogue, our first President wrote, among other things, “May the children of the Stock of Abraham, who dwell in this land, continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other Inhabitants; while everyone shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree, and there shall be none to make him afraid.”

Simply stated, I could think of no better metaphor for the beneficence of the Jewish experience in America than George Washington’s reference to the vine and fig tree, and I wanted to celebrate this event in American history that captures the spirit of our democracy in which Jews and other previously religiously-persecuted groups have flourished…in no small part due to the wisdom of our first President. Washington set the stage for a milieu of tolerance and acceptance, enabling Jews to thrive in this country.

Tolerance and acceptance? Really? The Tree of Life massacre? The Poway synagogue shooting? Unite the right march? Has the good old U.S.A. suddenly become anti-Semitic? Or rather was it that a political campaign that maligned immigrants and members of other minority religions, mocked those with disabilities, challenged the equality of gender preferences, and sought to portray white Christians as a grievously wounded and neglected group unintentionally unearthed beliefs about Jews that had been kept under the surface for at least two generations?.

Now, many American Jews are on edge. Some are recalling the “It can’t happen here…” mantras whispered nervously in Berlin in the 1930s. Others reflect on the more publicly evident expressions of anti-Semitism au courant in Europe that are being exported to the U.S. But once a virus such as anti-Semitism starts to spread, no magic antidote can combat it. Of course, organization such as the Anti-Defamation League and the American Jewish Committee, among others, will generate position papers, offer op-ed responses, take to social media and work behind the scenes with lawmakers and others with media influencers to push back vigorously, both privately and publicly. These efforts are necessary, but not sufficient.

In the past, the arts helped bring to light issues of anti-Semitism. A book such as Gentleman’s Agreement by Laura Z. Hobson (later made into a film starring Gregory Peck) and a movie such as Schindler’s List, directed by Steven Spielberg (inspired by a book by Thomas Keneally), are but two examples that exposed wide audiences to the insidious nature of anti-Semitism; until recently, they were cited by many Jews as examples of art that is historically significant but irrelevant to the current experiences of twenty-first century American Jews.

Now we all wait, patiently, for the book (fiction or non-fiction) that will enlighten the world of American Jews now living in a new age. In the meantime, of course, there remains much to celebrate and be grateful for. In these uncertain times, it’s great to read and re-read Abigail Pogrebin’s My Jewish Year: 18 Holidays, One Wondering Jew, especially during Hanukkah. This book returns readers to the spiritual heart of Judaism through one American Jew’s free, thorough, and joyful exploration of her religious heritage. How timely it has turned out to be. How well it manifests Washington’s promise.