The New Middle East War

A single conflict now stretches from Baghdad to Beirut. How many sides are there—and whose side is the U.S. on?
<em>Responding to a public call to arms against the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, thousands of Iraqi Shiites spill out into the streets of Baghdad on June 27. </em>Photo by Stringer/Anadolu Agency/Getty Images.
Responding to a public call to arms against the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, thousands of Iraqi Shiites spill out into the streets of Baghdad on June 27. Photo by Stringer/Anadolu Agency/Getty Images.
July 2 2014 5:22PM
About the author

Michael Doran, a senior fellow at the Hudson Institute, is a former deputy assistant secretary of defense and a former senior director of the National Security Council. He is finishing a book on President Eisenhower and the Middle East. He tweets @doranimated.

With the June 10 capture of the city of Mosul by the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS), a debate promptly reopened in the American media over America’s role in the fate of post-Saddam Hussein Iraq. Typifying one side of the debate was former President Bill Clinton, who on network television laid the blame for today’s problems squarely on the shoulders of the Bush administration. “If they hadn’t gone to war in Iraq,” he said, “none of this would be happening.” On the other side, there are suggestions that President Obama’s neglect of Iraq has been at least as harmful as was the interventionism of his predecessor, if not more so.

But the Iraq war as we once knew it is no longer, and the debate over it leaves us mired unprofitably in the past. The rise of ISIS is a subset of a new conflict, one that stretches all the way from Baghdad to Beirut. That conflict has its own unique character. What is it about? Who are its primary participants? Where do America’s vital interests lie, and what should America’s strategy be?


The new war is, in brief, a struggle over the regional order. In the balance hangs the future shape of Iraq, Syria, and Lebanon—their political shape no less than their contours on a map. On the battlefield at any given moment, one can find a dizzying array of actors, but at the basic strategic level the conflict has three sides: Shiite Iran and its proxies; ISIS and likeminded Sunni extremists; and the traditional allies of the United States: Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, the United Arab Emirates, and Israel. 

Which side is the United States on? Surprisingly, not the side of its traditional allies. Instead, Obama supports Iran. One can argue about whether this pro-Iran tilt is accidental or intentional, but one cannot deny its existence.

To see this picture clearly, we must ignore what the Obama administration says and focus on what it actually does. On Syria, for example, the White House continually repeats the tired line that we are working to convince President Bashar al-Assad to step aside and allow the opposition and the government to negotiate a caretaker authority. Yet who any longer gives any credence to this claim? It has long been clear that Washington wants and expects Assad to stay. Post-Mosul, the United States and its European allies even see the Syrian regime as a potential asset against ISIS.  

What about the $500 million in support of the Free Syrian Army (FSA) that the administration has lately requested from Congress? Simply put, the purpose of that aid is to keep the beleaguered FSA on life support lest ISIS swallow it up. Even after having made the request, the administration has explicitly resisted providing the FSA with the kind of weapons and training it would need to change the local balance of power. Instead, the administration remains wedded to its policy of “preserving regime institutions”—a euphemism for Assad’s murder machine, which is thoroughly integrated with Iran’s Revolutionary Guards—and turns a blind eye to the deployment in Syria of Iraqi Shiite and Hizballah militiamen supported by Tehran. 

The upshot is that when the president says he opposes the presence of foreign fighters in Syria, he is referring exclusively to Sunni jihadis. He has given Shiites a pass.


This brings us to Iraq, where the alignment between Washington and Tehran is even more transparent. On June 16, President Obama sent up to 300 military advisers to Baghdad, while also increasing our intelligence operations; two weeks later, he augmented the force by nearly 200 soldiers, amid reports that they would fly Apache helicopters and deploy surveillance drones. Unfortunately, however, since the departure of American troops in 2011, the Shiite regime of Nouri al-Maliki has itself become a satellite of Iran, whose Revolutionary Guards have thoroughly penetrated Iraqi security services. For all intents and purposes, then, the American troopers dispatched to Iraq are working to harden Iranian defenses, since any intelligence that we share with Maliki’s security services will inevitably land on the desk in Tehran of Qassem Suleimani, the head of the Quds Force.

Where Iraq is concerned, the United States and Iran now resemble two men walking single file down the street, repeating the same messages to everyone they encounter. Their silent coordination was recently on clear display in Kurdistan. After the fall of Mosul, the Iranian government urged Massoud Barzani, president of the Kurdish regional government in Iraq, to fight ISIS and support the government in Baghdad. A few days later, John Kerry appeared in Erbil to deliver an identical message.

But the effort to build an anti-ISIS coalition with Iran will inevitably fail—and spectacularly so. There are many reasons why, but one deserves special attention: Iran is incapable of making it succeed. Consider: over the last three years, Obama gave Iran a free hand in Syria and Iraq to counter Sunni jihadism. The result is a revitalized Iranian alliance system—and an al-Qaeda safe haven that now stretches from the outskirts of Baghdad in Iraq to Aleppo in Syria.

Yet Tehran is less discomfited by that safe haven than the Obama administration appears to think. Lacking the capability to defeat ISIS militarily, it thinks instead of managing the conflict to its own advantage. Two benefits have already accrued. In the absence of a strong American effort to shape the new order, opponents of ISIS have almost nowhere to turn but Iran. At the same time, longstanding American hostility to Iranian regional adventures has all but evaporated. 

On top of these obvious advantages, the Iranian leadership probably also calculates that, by pretending to be partners in counterterrorism with the West, it has magnified its leverage in the nuclear negotiations, which is Iran’s number one foreign-policy priority. This calculation may well be correct.

In any case, Iran and its allies lack not only the military capability to defeat Sunni jihadism but also the requisite political legitimacy. If the Iraq war taught us anything, it was that the defeat of al-Qaeda requires enlisting Sunni partners on our side. The best way to do that is to provide those civilian partners with a security regime they can trust. But today the non-jihadi Sunnis of Iraq and Syria fear both Maliki and Assad—who can blame them?—and have no reason to trust either America or Iran. In Iraq, the moment American troops departed, Maliki set to work shutting Sunnis out of the political system, without so much as a peep from Washington. In Syria, Assad has been savagely raping Sunni society. Iran, for its part, having directly aided both leaders in their respective sectarian projects, is toxic to Sunnis of all political stripes. 

With counterterrorism partners like these, Obama has no chance of attracting reliable Sunni allies. Absent the positive vision of a future political order they would be willing to fight for, the FSA forces trained by the U.S. in Syria, who do not regard ISIS as their primary enemy, will melt away when confronted with opposition from that quarter. As for America’s traditional Muslim allies in the region—Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, and Turkey—they can be counted on for, at most, qualified support. Although ISIS poses a significant threat to their security, they will be reluctant to join a coalition destined to advance the interests of Iran and its allies.


For Carl von Clausewitz, the great theoretician of war, identifying a conflict’s “center of gravity” is of key importance. Herein lies “the hub of all power and movement, on which everything [in war] depends.” Obama’s strategy ignores the center of gravity in today’s war, which is the struggle against the Iranian alliance system. The heart of the battle today is in Syria, where Assad, Iran’s closest ally, presents the alliance at its most brutal, if also its most vulnerable. Until Assad is gone, Syria will remain the region’s most powerful magnet of global jihad. So long as the jihadis enjoy a safe haven in Syria, they will continue to dominate the Sunni heartland of Iraq.  

When a state misidentifies the center of gravity, writes Clausewitz, its blows, no matter how hard, strike only air. President Obama is now winding up to throw a big punch at ISIS, but it will never connect. Regardless of his intentions, the effect of his policies is to deliver large portions of Iraq and Syria to ISIS while simultaneously empowering Iran.

This outcome bodes ill for the United States. But it will be especially dangerous for those countries that the U.S. used to call allies: Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and Israel, to name just three. Israel is in particular peril. American policy is partitioning Syria between Iran and the global jihadis—the two worst enemies of the Jewish state, now digging in right across its northern border. There can be no happy ending to this story.


Michael Doran, a senior fellow of the Saban Center for Middle East Policy at the Brookings Institution, is a former deputy assistant secretary of defense and a former senior director of the National Security Council in the George W. Bush administration. He is finishing a book on Eisenhower and the Middle East. He tweets @doranimated.

More about: Foreign Policy, ISIS, Israel, Middle East, War


How Israel Got Taken

The new memoir by Michael Oren, Israel’s former ambassador to Washington, tells all—except for one thing.

<em>Michael Oren speaking at an Atlantic Council dinner in 2013, while he was still Israel's ambassador to the United States.</em> Atlantic Council/Flickr.
Michael Oren speaking at an Atlantic Council dinner in 2013, while he was still Israel's ambassador to the United States. Atlantic Council/Flickr.
July 1 2015 12:01AM
About the author

Michael Doran, a senior fellow at the Hudson Institute, is a former deputy assistant secretary of defense and a former senior director of the National Security Council. He is finishing a book on President Eisenhower and the Middle East. He tweets @doranimated.

“More than [about] policy…, Barack Obama was about ideology and a worldview often at variance with Israel’s.” These words constitute the thesis statement of Ally: My Journey across the American-Israeli Divide, the new memoir by the historian Michael Oren, who served as Israel’s ambassador in Washington from 2009 to 2013. Given the grave urgency of the regional and international challenges facing the Jewish state, and given what is widely perceived today as a severe crisis in America-Israel relations, the book couldn’t be timelier—as the instantaneous media ruckus attending its publication amply testifies.

Not that Oren is breaking new ground in his claim that the American president is less concerned with pragmatic results than with fidelity to a preconceived ideology. Nevertheless, as a well-placed, first-hand observer, his validation of the claim is in itself a highly welcome and noteworthy event. Oren tempers the statement by assuring his readers that Obama doesn’t roll out of bed every morning to ask, “How can I undermine the Jewish state today?” But from the moment the ambassador took up his post in 2009, it was obvious that Obama had (in Oren’s term) his “kishke” obsessions—and these gut obsessions included, among other things, creating a Palestinian state and reconciling with Islam.

And that wasn’t all. In general, Oren writes, Obama also sought to downplay the military dimension of American foreign policy, to distance the United States from traditional allies, and to work through international organizations. Taken together, all of these inclinations, the ambassador understood, spelled trouble for Israel: “a traditional ally, heavily dependent on American might, and at odds with . . . international organizations.”

Where Israel was concerned, Obama’s approach led shortly after taking office to a rejection of “the ‘no daylight’ principle”—the idea, popular in conservative circles, that the United States should huddle closely with Israel on all issues affecting its security. As Oren reports, Obama scoffed at the very notion. “When there is no daylight, Israel just sits on the sidelines and that erodes our credibility with the Arabs,” he told a group of Jewish leaders in 2009. (Although critics of Oren have accused him of inventing this supposedly longstanding axiom of American policy, the fact remains that Obama very consciously formulated a converse principle.)

Early in his first term, the president also made a point of picking a loud and public fight with Israel. In order to show that the United States was changing direction, to enhance America’s credibility in the Muslim world, and to put Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu on notice that a new sheriff was in town, Obama insisted on a total freeze on Jewish settlements. And his definition of the concept was extreme. As Oren writes, the president defined “settlement” as any Jewish community on the West Bank built east of the 1949 ceasefire line, and “freeze” as meaning no construction of any kind. This policy, too, deviated sharply from previous practice; the Bush administration had raised no protest over building in areas that, under the terms of any conceivable peace plan, would remain part of Israel.

No Israeli prime minister of any stripe could have acceded to Obama’s demands; for Netanyahu in particular, compliance would have spelled political suicide. According to Oren, however, Netanyahu did make extraordinary efforts to conciliate the American president. Most notably, he became the first Israeli prime minister to agree to a ten-month moratorium on building starts—to no avail. Moreover, in a major public speech Netanyahu became the first Likud leader to accept the two-state solution: a controversial and statesmanlike act that deeply angered his right-wing base. Yet this, too, won him no plaudits. The reaction from Washington, Oren comments, “was tepid, at best, suggesting that the prime minister had merely performed a long-overdue duty.”

In addition to consciously violating the “no daylight” principle, Obama, in Oren’s telling, also violated the “no surprises” rule—the notion that the two governments should work closely together even to the point of sharing drafts of major speeches before delivery. Here again Oren’s critics have accused him of conjuring up a nonexistent utopian age of Israeli-American cooperation. Yet even if the “no surprises” rule is an exaggeration, he is obviously on to something real. Soon enough, the most egregious violation of the rule would turn out to be Obama’s decision to negotiate secretly with Iran, Israel’s declared mortal enemy. How many presidents, prior to Obama, had treated Israel in so cavalier a fashion? Hiding from the Israelis the existence of talks with their most powerful foe was hardly a recipe, to put it mildly, for building trust.

Oren, however, left Washington in the fall of 2013, before news broke of the clandestine talks with Tehran. By the time the Israelis and Americans were grappling with the issue intensively, he was out of the picture. From this point forward in the book, he writes as a historian, not as an eyewitness, and when it comes to Iran, his historian’s judgment on the Obama presidency is very harsh.


Ally has enraged the White House. The American ambassador to Israel, Dan Shapiro, has taken to Israeli radio to denounce its claims as “imaginary” and phoned Prime Minister Netanyahu in protest, demanding that he disavow Oren. (Netanyahu declined.) Also furious with the former ambassador, whom they see as an opportunist and an apostate, are Obama’s liberal American Jewish supporters and the Israeli left. After all, these critics point out, in Israel’s March elections Oren ran on the list of the Kulanu party, a rival of Netanyahu’s Likud, and during the campaign he laid the responsibility for the deterioration in U.S.-Israel relations not on Obama’s doorstep but on Netanyahu’s. In panning his book, Oren’s left-wing critics have therefore depicted it variously as a crass effort to turn a profit or as a blatantly political maneuver.

In response, Oren has characterized these criticisms as ad-hominem and as themselves politically motivated. He is correct—but only partially so. His critics have tweezed out very specific inaccuracies in the book and used them as a basis for dismissing the entire argument. Oren’s central thesis, however, hardly depends on his personal testimony. The notion that the White House has an ideological approach to Israel is by now so well substantiated that the only people who reject it are, to borrow one of Senator John McCain’s favorite lines, the president’s “blood relatives and paid staffers.”

Still, the critics are right about one thing: when all is said and done, Ally is indeed a politician’s memoir, and it exhibits the strengths and weaknesses of the genre. As a description of Obama’s foreign policy, it is ironclad. As a compelling account of Israeli efforts to grapple with the ideologue in the White House, it can disappoint.


Two distinctly different authorial personas inhabit this book. Michael Oren 2.0 claims to have had the president’s number from the start. But this keen-eyed observer, on whom nothing is lost, coexists uncomfortably with Michael Oren 1.0, who came to America not to criticize the Democratic president but to win his trust and to serve as a bridge between him and Israel’s prime minister. In that effort, Oren 1.0 cultivated the liberal Democratic elite and worked in close coordination with the weathervanes of American liberal opinion: preeminently, the columnist Jeffrey Goldberg, who receives well over twenty favorable mentions in Ally. As an American, an Ivy League graduate, and a bestselling author, Oren 1.0 presented himself to Obama’s supporters, and especially to Obama’s Jewish supporters, not as an envoy of the Likud, to which he held no allegiances, but as a native son and trustworthy friend.

During Obama’s first term, White House advisers assured the Israelis and the American Jewish elite that nuclear nonproliferation was one of the two or three issues dearest to the president’s heart. A trace of this assurance appears in Ally when Oren lists nonproliferation as one of Obama’s “kishke” issues. The president’s supposed dedication to staring down Tehran led many Israelis to conclude that he would always be their most stalwart ally on Iran. This was certainly the thinking of Oren’s good friend Jeffrey Goldberg who, during the 2012 election campaign in the U.S., channeled the common wisdom of Obama’s Jewish supporters. “Netanyahu would be wrong to root for Romney,” Goldberg wrote, in words so quaint they sound almost as if they came from a different century. “Barack Obama is the one who’s more likely to confront Iran militarily, should sanctions and negotiations fail.”

Given Obama’s trustworthiness—so the reasoning went at the time—Israel should bend over backward to accommodate his political needs. Netanyahu’s famous “time bomb” speech before the United Nations in September 2012 was one such effort at accommodation. It signaled to Obama that, in the prime minister’s mind, zero hour had not yet approached and that Israel would launch no attack against Iran before the presidential election in November. The speech was a great relief to the president, who, Oren reports, called to thank Netanyahu immediately afterward.

Oren 1.0 does not say precisely how he advised Netanyahu before the UN speech, but throughout the book he is seen repeatedly urging the prime minister to adopt a conciliatory stance toward Obama. So it stands to reason that he supported the speech, complete with its climb-down from the threat of an imminent Israeli attack on Iran’s nuclear facilities. Yet eventually it would become clear that the president’s true emotion was not gratitude to Netanyahu but disdain. In an interview with Goldberg about two years after the climb-down, an anonymous senior administration official, reliving the episode, bragged about how the president had forced Netanyahu, the “chickenshit,” to go sit in the corner.


That Oren is now persuaded that the ideologue in the White House is not to be trusted or appeased is indeed significant—and altogether honorable. Unfortunately, the ghost of Oren 1.0 is not so easily laid. Consider, for example, that in January of this year, Oren, out of office since 2013, publicly criticized Netanyahu for accepting the invitation from Speaker of the House John Boehner to address a joint session of of the U.S. Congress. “It’s advisable to cancel the speech . . . so as not to cause a rift with the American government,” Oren said. “Much responsibility and reasoned political behavior are needed to guard interests in the White House.”

In an interview with Goldberg shortly after the speech, Oren not only lamented the damage he felt Netanyahu had done to U.S.-Israeli relations, but also identified the American conservatives as a grave threat to those relations. In Ally, he reinforces this assessment by noting the distress of his wife, Sally, over the decision of many members of the Congressional Black Caucus to boycott Netanyahu’s address. “Everything we worked for, all we built,” Sally lamented. “It’s gone.” As for Jeffrey Goldberg, he still today professes to believe that Netanyahu is primarily to blame for the deterioration in U.S.-Israeli relations; that Obama sincerely frets over Israel’s security like a Jewish grandmother worrying over her grandchild; and that the administration’s nuclear deal with Iran is the least bad option for Israel.

These propositions are part and parcel of a political myth—one that enables liberal Jews and others to retain their traditional political identity even as their party and their president, an icon of liberalism, abandon Israel and repay its concessions with contempt. That these same propositions also contradict the core thesis of Ally as presented by Oren 2.0 raises a question: why is Oren 2.0 so reluctant to admit just how much and for how long Oren 1.0 bought into the mythical beliefs of his favored interlocutors in Washington?

In interviews, Oren has explained that he rushed his book to press in order to raise an urgent alarm about the Iran deal—a very bad deal that poses an existential threat to the state of Israel. In the face of such radical danger, Oren implies, diplomatic protocol is a nicety that Israel simply can’t afford. In other words, he is now basing his decision to publish a book excoriating Obama on an appeal to the same considerations that impelled the prime minister to reject his, Oren’s, January criticisms and go through with the speech to the U.S. Congress. Oren 2.0 fails even to acknowledge the contradiction.

At one point in Ally, Oren notes that “the worst word one could call an Israeli [is] a freier— Hebrew slang for a sucker.” Though Oren 2.0 refrains from admitting as much, he now appears to have concluded that, especially with respect to Iran, Obama played Israel and its liberal American supporters for suckers. Ally, a book with a resoundingly strong message, would have been that much stronger had it dispensed with the historian’s voice and told a simple story that everyone can understand: I got taken.

More about: Barack Obama, Israel & Zionism, Michael Oren, Politics & Current Affairs


Anti-Semitism and the New Russian Idea

There’s a new national ideology forming in Russia—and “the Jews” play a big part in it.

<em>Russian President Vladimir Putin gestures as he speaks at the "Business Russia" forum in Moscow on May 26, 2015.</em> Alexei Nikolsky/RIA Novosti, Kremlin Pool Photo via AP.
Russian President Vladimir Putin gestures as he speaks at the "Business Russia" forum in Moscow on May 26, 2015. Alexei Nikolsky/RIA Novosti, Kremlin Pool Photo via AP.
June 25 2015 12:01AM
About the author

Walter Laqueur is the author of, among other books, WeimarA History of TerrorismFascism: Past, Present, Future, and The Dream that Failed: Reflections on the Soviet Union. His newest book, Putinism: Russia and Its Future with the West, has just been released by Thomas Dunne/St. Martin’s.

Vladimir Putin’s steely nationalist rule has raised fears in the West of a return to Soviet-style dictatorship in Russia. But what many outsiders fail to understand is that the country is still in a period of ideological transition, with a new national idea gradually emerging from the Marxism-Leninism of old. Among the more noteworthy aspects of this new “Russian idea” is the explanation it provides for the upheavals of the 20th century and the country’s perceived current decline. Unfortunately, as is often the case with such overarching narratives, Jews play a disproportionately significant role.

Home to a prominent anti-Semitic tradition under the tsars, and again under the Communist regime that replaced them, Russia has long been seized by the “Jewish question.” During the Soviet Union’s first two decades, many among its key leaders were themselves Jewish—and Marx himself, of course, was of Jewish origin—but within the party apparatus, though less strong at the top than in the middle and lower echelons, there was a great deal of animosity toward Jews.

Today, thanks in part to still-lingering consciousness of the Holocaust, open anti-Semitism is démodé. It is unthinkable, for example, to regret publicly that Hitler killed too few Jews, or to deny that he killed any at all. But underlying anti-Jewish sentiments persist and have found alternate means of expression, notably through the simple replacement of “Jews” and “Judaism” with “Zionists” and “Zionism.” Yesterday’s accusations of bloodthirstiness, perfidy, and licentiousness have, for the most part, given way to revisionist accounts of the satanic “Zionist” influence on Russia’s historical path.

The content of these works ranges from the relatively sane to the utterly bizarre and lunatic. Their quantity, however, has lately reached an all-time high, even as the number of actual Jews living in Russia is at a historic low. (Émigré Jewish speakers of Russian in greater New York may now equal or outnumber Jews currently living in Russia itself.) What explains this recent surge?

One partial answer lies in the enduring Russian fascination with para- and metapolitics, especially conspiracy theories, the appetite for which has never been met by any homegrown tradition of detective fiction; there is no Russian Sherlock Holmes or Jules Maigret, for instance. Another answer lies in the more or less complicit attitude of Russia’s current political and intellectual elites, some of whom support the anti-Semitic campaign and would even see it intensified (though others caution against overdoing it). But really to understand the phenomenon’s sources and aims, one has to delve into its inner logic. That anti-Semitic paranoia should flourish under today’s circumstances speaks volumes about the contemporary Russian mindset, and demands attention.


To survey the vast recent output of “anti-Zionist” propaganda by Moscow publishing houses would be a heroic undertaking. Fortunately, given how repetitive such works have become, focusing briefly on just one work by one author will do the job before we move on to more formidable figures.

Vladimir Bolshakov is the author of Blue Star against Red Star: How the Zionists Became the Gravediggers of Communism (2014). This is the final installment of a trilogy, the first two volumes of which, With the Talmud and the Red Star and Khazaria and Hitler, were published in 2013. The latter titles alone are weird: the Talmud was never seen together with the Bolshevik red star, and what possible connection could link the medieval kingdom of Khazaria, which briefly adopted Judaism, and Adolf Hitler who in all probability never heard of it?

The trilogy’s third volume only deepens the mystery. Its back cover announces that, in the early 1970s, international Zionism, operating through the offices of Golda Meir—then Israel’s prime minister but originally, Bolshakov claims, an ally of Communism—launched a subversive campaign against the Soviet Union and eventually became its “gravedigger.” These are indeed sensational allegations, and one wonders how such remarkable facts and world-shaking events could have escaped notice by contemporaries and historians alike. Why on earth would Golda—around the time of the Yom Kippur war and at a time of terrible danger to the young state of Israel—have taken the reckless and politically suicidal step of declaring war on a superpower?

In support of such disclosures, Bolshakov cites “Iron Felix” Dzherzhinsky, the first head of the Cheka, as Soviet intelligence was called in the regime’s early days, to the effect that on certain issues Zionists and Communists could perhaps find common ground. He does not reveal when or where Dzherzhinsky said this, let alone that Dzherzhinsky was never in a position to influence basic issues in Soviet or Communist policy; in his day, the political police and espionage apparatus were not remotely so powerful as they later became. Nor is Bolshakov himself, who once labored at the lower levels of the Soviet propaganda apparatus, and virtually all of whose “quotations” are of a similar cast, in a position to tell us how important decisions were made in the Kremlin.

Still, his account is valuable in conveying the mood within the Soviet elite in the decades after the death of Stalin in 1953. He is deeply convinced that the Zionists—of whom, he says, there were a great many in Moscow—played a sinister role throughout this period and even into the post-Soviet age in the 1990s and afterward. Consider Vladimir Zhirinovsky, now the head of Russia’s third-largest political party and one who enjoys the reputation of being staunchly and reliably anti-Zionist. Zhirinovsky’s mother was Russian; but, asked on one occasion about the nationality of his father Wolf, he replied, suspiciously, only that Zhirinovsky père had been a lawyer from Lviv (Lvov). Bolshakov assures us that the son is not to be trusted.

Bolshakov also tries to lay to rest any impression that Jews ever faced discrimination behind the Iron Curtain. Far from it, he claims: they were—and remain—all-powerful. In fact, so pervasive has their influence been that anyone critical of it has found himself subject to persecution. Conscientious journalists who warned against Jewish conspiracies were exiled to faraway countries like Australia and New Zealand. True, Bolshakov admits, a few Russian patriots were sometimes able to publish books and articles exposing the Jewish cabal, and lower-echelon “anti-Zionists” were occasionally protected by those higher up in the hierarchy, including editors of leading newspapers like Pravda and some in the party propaganda machine. But on the whole, he insists, anti-Zionists had to be extremely cautious not to exceed certain limits lest they face professional discrimination or banishment to the Gulag.

Bolshakov bitterly accuses many highly placed party leaders of dereliction in their duty to guard Russia against the Zionist threat. In his account, even those not directly in the thrall of the Zionists are depicted as turning a blind eye to the danger; one such was Leonid Brezhnev, the hardline General Secretary of the Communist party who led the USSR from 1964 to 1982—but who allegedly (according to Bolshakov) had a Jewish wife. We also hear frequently about the iniquities of the reformer Mikhail Gorbachev (General Secretary 1985-1991), along with those of his adviser and evil genius Alexander Yakovlev. As for today, although Bolshakov and those who think like him would not dare attack Vladimir Putin for such sins, they show no similar forbearance when it comes to other members of the ruling group.


If Bolshakov’s paranoid anti-Semitism can be described as merely a symptom of the new Russian idea, the roots of the phenomenon go back farther and deeper—and its branches now extend to the highest echelons of Moscow’s current post-Communist elite. Perhaps the most interesting and influential star in the firmament is Ivan Ilyin (1883-1954), who in the new ideology of the Putin regime may be thought of as the equivalent of Marx and Lenin rolled into one.

The son of a Russian father and a German mother, Ilyin was born in Moscow, studied philosophy and theology, and in 1922 was expelled following Lenin’s orders on board the famous “philosophers’ ship” of suspect intellectuals. Settling first in Germany, he welcomed the advent of Nazism, regarding it as a counterforce to liberalism and Jewish influence. He even worked for a certain period in the Nazi propaganda ministry under Joseph Goebbels; although losing his job in the wake of a personal intrigue among Russian émigrés, he continued to believe sincerely in Hitler as a bulwark to the spread of Communist infiltration in Europe. Warning constantly of the Jews’ control of the media in the Weimar republic, and of their overwhelmingly harmful influence, he was hardly troubled by their subsequent fate under the Nazis. Nor did he grasp the other consequences of the radical cause he supported, including the murder in its name of millions of “subhuman” Russians.

Even after the war, Ilyin regarded fascism as a positive force, criticizing it only for being insufficiently religious in inspiration, a fault that in his view eventually caused its downfall. Indeed, he had preferred Mussolini to Hitler because of the former’s more positive attitude to the church, and, on the same grounds, Franco and Salazar to other dictators. (If Russian religious thinkers, for their part, tended to doubt the depth and sincerity of Ilyin’s religious attachments, it was because they found in his works more of German philosophy than of orthodox belief and dogma.)

Having lost his job in Germany, Ilyin moved to Switzerland with the help of the composer Sergei Rachmaninoff. He remained a fascist sympathizer until his death in 1954, though, when it came to Russia, he favored monarchy over fascist dictatorship.

The 21st-century rediscovery of Ilyin by Putin and his friends was a momentous event. Putin took a personal hand in arranging the philosopher’s 2005 reburial in Russia, and has sent his works as Christmas presents—and mandatory reading—to all of Russia’s regional governors. As one of his ministers put it, “God gave Ilyin the gift of prophecy.” He is virtually the only thinker cited in Putin’s own speeches and articles, and the same goes for the public utterances of the regime’s other leading figures. He is regarded, in short, as the most farsighted Russian political theorist of modern times, particularly when it comes to his strongly voiced nationalism and unwillingness to acknowledge the presence in Russia of other nationalities and minorities and their rights. (Less attention is paid to Ilyin’s economic and social views, which broadly speaking were those of the “Solidarist” movement, a kind of Christian alternative to Communist-style collectivism, quite out of fashion in contemporary Russia.)

To be sure, the enthusiasm has by no means been universal, even on the right. To one political writer, for example, Ilyin is not just a suspect figure but an outright enemy. After all, had he been a true Russian patriot, the Bolsheviks would surely have not just exiled but killed him. And is it not indicative that, during his Berlin exile, meetings of the Russian émigré intellectuals took place in a building placed at their disposal by B’nai B’rith, the Jewish “Masonic” lodge? On this view, what is needed for the new Russia is not the wishy-washy and half-hearted anti-democratic ideology of someone like Ilyin, but something far more robust.


And this brings us back to Vladimir Bolshakov and Blue Star against Red Star. In the last third of that book, Bolshakov suddenly swerves to focus on masonstvo—the Masons. This in itself is no great surprise: as students of the subject know well, zhido-masonstvo, the alleged Jewish-Masonic conspiracy, has long been a main obsession of Russian anti-Semites. From here on in the “Zionists” in Blue Star against Red Star become amalgamated with or even subordinate to the Masons and their lodges: the true engineers, along with the people who were their tools, of all of the major and most of the minor political developments in modern history. In Russia, their nefarious activities are said to have included both revolutions of 1917: the non-Communist February one, marking the end of the Russian empire and the creation of the Russian republic, and the October one, marking the Bolshevik takeover.

But if Lenin was a Mason, along with Trotsky and the other members of the Communist leadership, in what way were the “Zionists” responsible for their crimes? The answer, it seems, is that for Bolshakov and his comrades, “Zionism” and the battle against it have always been the core issue, and all other political controversies—including the relative merits of Communism versus tsarist autocracy—are secondary. Indeed, educated Russians who continue to believe in the old party-line version of Communist and Soviet history are now in a minority, and even those who like Bolshakov himself pretend to be guardians of the Communist flame have adjusted themselves to the new line. They may still accept a small part of Marx’s teachings, and preeminently his virulent essay on the Jewish question, but they pointedly distance themselves from his Russophobia as well as from the internationalist thrust of his doctrine, not to mention his economic prescriptions. The new Russian idea, after all, is not socialist, and not even national-socialist, but state-capitalist.

All of this is bound to cause major attacks of dizziness. Bolshakov at one point fingers the late Meir Kahane as the principal cause of Communism’s demise, but a few pages later his villain is the playwright Arthur Miller, and just a few pages after that the Russian politician Gennady Burbulis, an associate of Boris Yeltsin in the first post-Communist government who is now best known as president of the association of Russian short-track speed-skaters. Can such a farrago of nonsense possibly gain credence among a significant number of people in positions of responsibility in a major country?

One would like to doubt it, but in fact there is no clear answer. Putin himself does not believe in “anti-Zionism” or in the Judeo-Masonic fantasy; even the nationalist ideologue Aleksandr Dugin, probably the most prominent contemporary peddler of more sophisticated conspiracy theories, has declared that those who disseminate primitive “anti-Zionist” idiocy are doing more harm than good. Yet Putin still professes to be guided by Ivan Ilyin.

And herein lies the significance of the Bolshakov trilogy: not that it is exceptionally extreme or foolish but, to the contrary, that it is representative, and that there is a flood of others just like it. There is still no generally agreed-upon party line in the new Russia; some of the power elite, including apparently the army general staff, seem to go well beyond Ilyin—who was no believer in conspiracy theories, and, as a Christian, would hardly share the Asian (or Eurasian) fantasies of some ambitious present-day Russians.

Just who will come out on top in the struggle for power under and after Putin, and what kind of new ideology will eventually prevail, is still anyone’s guess. But whatever the outcome, it would be a serious mistake to ignore the grimly prominent role played by anti-Semitism in this unfolding drama.

More about: Politics & Current Affairs, Russia, Vladimir Putin


Mutiny in the Bible

What happens when the people rebel against the leadership of Moses and Aaron?

<em>From</em> Punishment of the Rebels<em>, 1482, by Botticelli.</em>
From Punishment of the Rebels, 1482, by Botticelli.
Atar Hadari
June 19 2015 12:01AM
About the author

Atar Hadari, born in Israel and raised in England, is a poet and translator whose Rembrandt’s Bible, a collection of biblical monologues, was recently published in the UK by Indigo Dreams. He writes regularly for Mosaic.

For this week’s reading about the mutiny of Koraḥ (Numbers 16:1 – 18:32), we take you first not to Judea or the Sinai desert but to medieval England and the opening of Shakespeare’s Richard II. There the divinely anointed ruler of the land is accosted by two quarrelling noblemen, one of whom is his cousin Bolingbroke. Richard reassuringly addresses the other, Mowbray, who is threatening the kingdom through this dispute:

Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom’s heir,
As he is but my father’s brother’s son,
Now, by my sceptre’s awe, I make a vow,
Such neighbor nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul.

That phrase “my father’s brother’s son” came back to me when viewing an illustration that accompanies this week’s reading in the Daat Mikra edition of Yeḥiel Moskovitz. It is a family tree. On it, you can see that the patriarch Jacob’s son Levi had three sons and eight grandsons; one of the grandsons begat Aaron and Moses, another begat Koraḥ. And that leads us to the questions that stand at the crux of this reading: does greatness depend on blood line, or is it innate to the individual person and his particular qualities? How should the Jews be ruled, and what on earth does the Lord want?

Back in medieval England, when Richard’s naïveté and greed have allowed Bolingbroke to grow more powerful and demonstrate a just grievance against him, Richard comforts himself with the backing of heaven:

Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm off from an anointed king;
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord:
For every man that Bolingbroke hath press’d
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
God for His Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel: then, if angels fight,
Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right.

Yet this reliance on heaven does not quite obscure from even Richard’s eyes the fact that his right is entirely dependent on his might. When his arrival on the field of battle is delayed by a day and he loses vital support, there is less talk of angels:

But now the blood of twenty thousand men
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled;
And, till so much blood thither come again,
Have I not reason to look pale and dead?
All souls that will be safe fly from my side,
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.

It doesn’t go quite like that for Moses and for the successive waves of rebels he and the Lord face in this week’s reading:

But Koraḥ son of Yitzhar, son of Kehat, son of Levi, took himself
With Datan and Aviram the sons of Eliav and On son of Pelet the sons of Reuben
And they rose before Moses
With men from among the children of Israel
Two hundred fifty leaders of the community
Who’d be consulted as the need arose, reputable men
And they assembled against Moses and Aaron
And said to them, You’ve more than enough.
The whole community is sacred, and the Lord is within them.
So why do you raise yourselves over the Lord’s assembly?
But Moses heard and fell on his face
And spoke to Koraḥ and all his community saying,
Come morning and God will know who’s His and who’s sanctified and who’ll sacrifice to Him
And whoever He chooses shall sacrifice to him.

Just as Richard II’s story revolves around inheritance and what piece of earth, what ceremonial duties, and what filial duties belong inalienably to a particular cousin, this story, too, revolves around what rightfully belongs to whom, what is given and what is taken, and what, finally, the Lord wants. The story starts with Koraḥ taking himself and all the people he leads away from the general community. It continues with Moses directing them to the censers or fire pans—tools of the priestly office they are coveting—and pointing out that in addition to taking you have to give, and you start by setting the censers alight. Nor will that be the end of what burns in this story.

 Do this: take yourselves censers, Koraḥ and all his community,
And give them to the flame and put incense on them before the Lord tomorrow
And let the man whom the Lord chooses for Himself be the sacred one.
You’ve more than enough, sons of Levi.

Moses signs off his instructions with a tart echo of Koraḥ’s opening sally: whoever is High Priest is not in office for just one sect, he is in office for the whole house of Levi and the whole community. And as the story keeps reiterating that Koraḥ is not alone, that he is indeed leading a community, it also keeps emphasizing that with every question he asks, Koraḥ is actually breaking down the greater community into a smaller interest group. He is doing the opposite of what a leader is meant to do.

But Moses said to Koraḥ, Pray listen, sons of Levi,
Is it too little for you that the God of Israel separated you from the community of Israel
To draw you to Him to worship the worship of the Lord’s abode
And stand before the community to serve them?
And He drew you near and your brethren sons of Levi with you
But you ask the priesthood, too?
That’s why you and all your community are set against the Lord.
But Aaron—what’s he that you should rail against him?
And Moses sent to call Datan and Aviram the sons of Eliav
But they said, “We won’t come up.
Is it too little for you that you took us up from a land running with milk and honey
To put us to death in the desert
But you must also lord it and lord it over us?
You didn’t even bring us to a land running with milk and honey
Or give us an estate of field and vineyard.
Do you want to put out the eyes of all those men? We will not go up.”
And it stung Moses greatly and he said to God,
“Do not attend to their offering,
I’ve borne with more than one of those jackasses
And never done wrong to one of them.”
But Moses said to Koraḥ, “You and all your community
Be sure you are before the Lord,
You and they and Aaron tomorrow
And take each man his censer and put incense on them
And sacrifice before the Lord each man his censer,
Two hundred fifty censers,
And you and Aaron, each man his censer.
And each man took his censer and gave them to flame and put incense on them
And stood at the meeting tent door with Moses and Aaron
And Koraḥ assembled all the community against them at the tent door
And the Lord’s glory appeared before the whole community

Here we have the key element that’s missing in Richard II’s story. There, the concept of divine anointment is a relic of biblical social organization; here, you still have the source of that organization: the essentially mysterious, essentially unpredictable force that will appear as and when He pleases and speak through exactly whom He pleases. But when He speaks, the text notes pointedly, He speaks to the whole community. He’s not interested in splinter groups:

But the Lord spoke to Moses and Aaron, saying,
“Separate from within this community
And I’ll finish them this instant.”
But they fell on their faces and said,
“God, God of the spirits in all flesh,
Shall one man sin and you erupt at the whole community?”
But the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: “Speak to the community to say:
Be risen from around the abode of Koraḥ, Datan, and Aviram.”

Somewhere in his letters Raymond Chandler cites an example of gangster argot, “Be missing,” whose threat impresses him because of its restraint. The same sense of imminent violence is in the Lord’s terse suggestion to the Israelites that, since Moses and Aaron have persuaded Him not to wipe out the lot of them, they should be what Koraḥ & Co. have accused Moses and Aaron of being, namely, raised above their particular element of the community.

And Moses got up and went to Datan and Aviram
And the elders of Israel followed him
And he spoke to the community, saying:
“Please turn from the tents of these wicked men
And don’t touch anything of theirs
Lest you perish in all their sins.”
And they rose up from the abode of Koraḥ, Datan, and Aviram all around.
And Datan and Aviram came out petrified to the openings of their tents
With their wives, sons, and babies
And Moses said, “By this you’ll know
I was sent by the Lord to do these deeds
And not by my own heart.
If these should die as any man dies
And the appointed lot of any man be their lot,
Then it was not the Lord Who sent me.
But if the Lord create a creation
And the earth gape its mouth
And swallow them and all that’s theirs
And they go down alive into the underworld,
Then you’ll know these men provoked the Lord.”

This is the first in a series of miracles in this saga. In marked contrast to the ten plagues that smote the Egyptians, we’re not presented with a mounting sequence of severity. On the contrary, the Lord seems to toss off His biggest miracle first. Moreover, in a story that revolves around gifts given and taken, not only are these people not the Lord’s, but He also has no desire for anything belonging to them, nor does He want people touching anything belonging to them. So superfluous are they to His requirements that the earth opens up to swallow any trace that they ever existed. Except, of course, for the censers:

And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying,
“Tell Elazar son of Aaron the Priest to pick the censers from among the burnings
And scatter the fire away.
But since they sanctified these sinful censers with their lives,
Make them into a plating for the altar
For they sacrificed them before the Lord
And they were sanctified and shall be a sign to the children of Israel
That no strange man who is not a descendant of Aaron
Draw near to offer incense before the Lord
And be like Koraḥ and his community”—
As the Lord said by the hand of Moses.

You’d think that would be the end of it, with the Lord having gone ballistic, so to speak, at first strike. But the true consequences of Koraḥ’s rebellion are only beginning; the cracks he was exploiting in the social order are only just starting to come apart, and the same can be said for that little earthquake that swallowed him and 250 of the best and brightest. Amazingly enough, it turns out they had opened the door for thousands of others to keep arguing.

But the whole community of Israel railed the next day at Moses and Aaron, saying:
“You have put to death the people of the Lord.”
And it was as the community assembled against Moses and against Aaron
And turned to the meeting tent
And here it was engulfed in the cloud.
That the glory of the Lord appeared.
And Moses and Aaron came before the meeting tent
and the Lord spoke to Moses, saying:
“Rise from within this community
and I’ll finish them this instant.”
And they fell on their faces
But Moses told Aaron, “Take the censer and give it light from the altar
And put incense on it and go quickly to the community
And atone for them
For the eruption has gone out from before the Lord, the plague has started.”
And Aaron took what Moses said and ran into the assembly
And here the plague had started among the people
And he gave the incense and atoned for the people
And he stood between the living and the dead
And the plague halted.
And there were fourteen thousand seven hundred dead
From the plague, aside from those dead over Koraḥ’s words.

There’s another miracle still to come, but for me this is the dramatic climax of the story. You could not have a more marked contrast between the calculated self-seeking of Koraḥ’s party, signaled in the censers they brought to lobby selfishly for office, and the spectacle of Aaron simply “taking what Moses said” and leaping into the multitude who were dropping like flies, waving the incense around and stopping the plague bodily: surely a first case of the Torah not being in heaven but on earth and of the tools the Lord had given being used, despite Him, as a bulwark against social disruption.

Yet, astonishingly, even this plague is not enough. The Jews are still complaining!

But the Lord spoke to Moses, saying:
“Speak to the children of Israel and take from them
Staff by staff one for each father’s house, from all the leaders of their fathers’ houses,
Twelve staffs. Write each man’s name on his staff,
and Aaron’s name you’ll write on Levi’s staff
for there’s one staff for their father’s house.”

If you’re still wondering whom the Lord wants to be offering His sacrifices, you have a little hint here of how the next act is going to play out. Aaron’s is the name to be written on the staff that represents the entire house of Levi, including Koraḥ’s party had they still been alive, and including all of his various cousins. At the end of the next miracle sequence, the question of whom the spoils and duties of office belong to will finally be settled.

And lay them in the meeting tent
Before the testimony that I will testify to you there
And it shall be that the man I choose, his staff shall bloom
And I will calm away from me the children of Israel’s complaints that they rail against you.

When—surprise!—Aaron’s staff proceeds to flower and brings forth fruit, the reinforced social order that results from all this rebellion is spelled out in meticulous detail:

And the Lord said to Moses, Return Aaron’s staff
To before the testimony as a preserved sign
To sons of strife so their complaints at Me shall end and they won’t die.
But the children of Israel spoke to Moses, saying:
“Look we’re expiring, we’re lost, all of us lost,
Everyone who creeps close to the Lord’s abode dies. Are we done expiring?”
And the Lord said to Aaron: “You and your sons and your father’s house with you
Shall bear the sin of your priesthood
And your brothers too in Levi’s staff, you father’s tribe you’ll bring close with you
And they’ll attend you and serve you, and you and your sons with you
Before the meeting tent
And they’ll keep your watch and the watch of all the tent.
But to the holy vessels and the altar they won’t come close
And they won’t die, neither they, nor you.
And I here take your brothers the Levites from among the children of Israel
To you as a gift they’re given
To the Lord
To worship the worship of the meeting tent.
But you and your sons with you
Shall keep your priesthood
Over every aspect of the altar
And from the temple to the holy of holies
And you’ll worship the worship as a gift I’ll give your priesthood
And the stranger who comes close will be put to death.”

Here then is the resolution of the story’s complex weave of giving, taking, filial inheritance, and personal worth. The priesthood is a gift the Lord gives to Aaron and to Himself. The service of the Levites is a gift the Levites must give and the Lord likewise gives to Himself—they hold the office to serve, not to gain. And in each case the office is equally deadly. Not only is Aaron’s cousin as much a stranger who can’t touch the altar as the member of any other tribe, but even Aaron’s sons themselves can die if they don’t offer the offerings appropriately. Fighting plagues is not glamorous work.

Still, as late as the Middle Ages, you can hear among Jewish commentators an echo of Koraḥ’s anguished, jealous cry. Here is Moses Naḥmanides (also known as Ramban):

This is the point of the flowering of Aaron’s staff for the house of Levi, for it flowered for the whole house of Levi and in their due. And it’s possible that since it was known by [means of] the staff that the Lord does not desire firstborns but desires the tribe of Levi, so the priesthood shall belong to Aaron without rancor, for he was the most honored of the tribe and the leader among them with the staff and the dignity of that tribe was fitting to him. But it’s not right in my view, because Gershon [and not Aaron’s grandfather Kehat] was the first-born son of Levi.

Isn’t what Naḥmanides insists on seeing as an injustice exactly the claim of all the brothers, from Cain to Ishmael to Esau and Joseph’s eleven siblings, who demand to know why the eldest did not get his due? But that’s precisely the point: it isn’t about being the eldest, and it isn’t finally even about being born to the right father.

Going back to Shakespeare, after defeating Richard II in battle and becoming Henry IV, Bolingbroke gets his own play (two plays, in fact) and in due course has to explain to his own wayward son Harry why he made a better office-holder than the man he deposed:

The skipping king, he ambled up and down
With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits,
Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state,
Mingled his royalty with capering fools,
Had his great name profaned with their scorns
And gave his countenance, against his name,
To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push
Of every beardless vain comparative,
Grew a companion to the common streets. . . .

So when he had occasion to be seen,
He was but as the cuckoo is in June,
Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes
As, sick and blunted with community,
Afford no extraordinary gaze,
Such as is bent on sun-like majesty
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes. . . .

And in that very line, Harry, standest thou;
For thou has lost thy princely privilege
With vile participation: not an eye
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more.

The figure conjured up by this picture of Richard II is Koraḥ, the cajoler and inviter of idle discontent, not Aaron the silent instrument of Moses’ bidding, the man who does not utter a word when the Lord strikes down his sons for bringing strange fire. It is restraint, finally, that this story is all about. Restraint by Moses of his own anger and the Lord’s anger, restraint of competitive urges within the community because the entire community is threatened by them. At the end of the story, instead of gaining high office, the Levites are cemented into their subsidiary role, and what Koraḥ’s rebellion has elicited is a chapter-and-verse detailing of exactly how that subordinate status is going to be preserved in perpetuity. It’s not about the glory of office, it’s about the glory that’s revealed quite unpredictably. And the person fit for office is not the one who wants a priestly robe; it’s the one who’s ready to dive into the dying mob.

More about: Hebrew Bible, Moses, Religion & Holidays, The Monthly Portion


In What Way Is This Music Jewish?

Charles Krauthammer and Edward Rothstein exchange views.

<em>From </em>Music<em> by Marc Chagall, 1920.
From Music by Marc Chagall, 1920.
June 18 2015 12:01AM
About the authors

Charles Krauthammer, the Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist and author of Things That Matter: Three Decades of Passions, Pastimes, and Politics, is the chairman of Pro Musica Hebraica.

Edward Rothstein, critic at large for the Wall Street Journal, was chief music critic for the New York Times from 1991 to 1995. Follow him on Twitter @EdRothstein.

Charles Krauthammer writes:


Edward Rothstein’s review of “Before the Night: Jewish Classical Masterpieces of Pre-1933 Europe,” Pro Musica Hebraica’s recent Kennedy Center concert of interwar classical Jewish music, was thoughtful, discerning, and very much appreciated. Permit me, however, to address one observation that seems to me profoundly wrong.

Regarding the works that we presented of Erich Korngold, Jerzy Fitelberg, and Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco, major Jewish composers later forced into exile by the Nazis, Rothstein asks:

[A]side from their creators’ shared background, in what way were these works “Jewish”? That is a question, indeed, that one might ask of almost any of the offerings of Pro Musica Hebraica (PMH), whose concert series is now in its eighth season.

The latter is a very odd question. This is the seventeenth concert presented by Pro Musica Hebraica. We have presented music ranging from the baroque Jewish music of 17th-century Italy and Amsterdam to Osvaldo Golijov’s 1994 The Dreams & Prayers of Isaac the Blind. These compositions are imbued with themes—liturgical, folkloric, biblical, historical—that make them Jewish not in the ghettoized sense of appealing only to one ethnicity or history, but Jewish in the same way that Béla Bartók’s music is Hungarian: universal, but with a sensibility and rootedness that give it a distinctive identity.

The question about Jewish music is not much different from the question: “Is there a Jewish novel?” Of course there is, although we can differ over precise definitions. As for us at Pro Musica Hebraica, we do not define Jewish music by genetics or even by religious affiliation. We have featured, for example, Prokofiev’s Overture on Hebrew Themes and Shostakovich’s Fourth String Quartet, both explicitly inspired by Jewish music. Indeed, in our first baroque concert we presented a rendition of the Psalms written by a Catholic composer so taken with Hebrew Scripture that he wrote the music right to left.

The concert that Rothstein attended and wrote about did push the question to the edges, since it contained few overtly Jewish themes. One of the points of that concert was to demonstrate how, in the 1920s, Jewish composers were running away from the tropes of the East European shtetl to explore new kinds of modern music. Accordingly, Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco, for example, is classified by the august Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians as an Italian composer. His Jewishness, when mentioned at all, typically consists only in his being branded as such by Mussolini in the late 1930s. We find this a poor assessment of a composer whose works take obvious inspiration from the Hebrew Bible and whose compositions, like the Piano Quintet we presented, are shot through with melodic patterns derived from traditional Jewish music.

What is Jewish classical music? Our very first concert featured music of the St. Petersburg school of early 20th-century Russian-Jewish composers who came together to create distinctively Jewish art music. They went so far as to send anthropological expeditions into shtetls and towns to study, transcribe, and, indeed, record (on wax cylinders) the music of their people, from which they drew inspiration for the creation of a new body of self-consciously Jewish classical music.

As I noted in my introduction to that first concert, the creation of Pro Musica Hebraica was intended to recover this legacy, so much of which had been nearly lost to history. Our modest goal was to add both a small room to the great mansion of Western music and another room to the great mansion of Jewish culture.

We believe that if you look at the full body of our work—all seventeen concerts presented over seven years, extensively documented and annotated at our website—what emerges is a body of work of unmistakably Jewish character, of high musical achievement, and deserving of study and recognition.


Edward Rothstein replies:


In my essay in Mosaic, I referred to Pro Musica Hebraica as “a marvelous brainchild of Charles and Robyn Krauthammer.” Surely I would not have done so had I been as “profoundly wrong” about Pro Musica Hebraica as Charles Krauthammer believes. In replying to him now, I don’t want to add further compliments to perceived injuries; but I insist that I’ve been misunderstood.

The question I posed in my essay about the pieces by Erich Korngold, Jerzy Fitelberg, and Mario Castelnuovo Tedesco—“in what way were these works ‘Jewish’?”—was a rhetorical one, to which the answer was neither “in no way” nor “only because of the religious origins of the composers.” Having asked it, I then went on to suggest that even though the pieces by the three composers offered no overt citations of Jewish melodies or ritual, and even though no specifically Jewish program could be detected behind the music’s drama, and even though the concert’s organizers explicitly asked us not to hear these interwar compositions as premonitions of or preludes to the Holocaust, nevertheless it was worth thinking about the music as being in some way Jewish. In my essay, I may have even treated the pieces as more Jewish than did the presenters, who, as I pointed out, wanted them to be heard as neglected expressions of secular modernism.

At the very least, this music was Jewish in a biographical way—and not just because of the composers’ birth but because of how their lives followed similar trajectories. For the purposes of my brief essay, I thought it sufficient to suggest that the works heard at the concert reflected a moment in the 20th-century history of a class of assimilated professional Jews who aspired to the highest levels of achievement in their respective national cultures—just before they were exiled from those cultures at the point of the sword. Being more precise about them than this would require deeper study, but some quality of these composers’ parallel lives and fates must be expressed in their music.

As it happens, moreover, two of the three exiled composers featured at the May concert, all of whom found refuge in the United States, then proceeded to reinvent our own culture, which itself has long been a culture of reinvention. Could that additional similarity in their experience be discernible through subtle similarities in their music? It strikes me as possible, perhaps probable.


As Charles Krauthammer notes, I also proposed that the question I asked about the pieces by Korngold, Fitelberg, and Castelnuovo-Tedesco—“in what way were these works ‘Jewish’?”—could be asked about almost any of the offerings of Pro Musica Hebraica over its eight seasons. Although he appears convinced I meant the question literally, and that my answer was “in no way,” I trust I’ve now made clear that this is not the case. Perhaps I should have followed with a clarifying phrase: “in many different ways.” And I might also have addressed other individual concerts. (I did include a link to recordings of them.) But that was not my primary purpose, which was to suggest that the question itself is both legitimate and very complicated.

And that brings me to another reason why I applaud the Pro Musica Hebraica series. Over the last decades, identity politics has transformed American institutions, to the point where ethnic or racial or sexual identity has become a separate and often all-dominating focus of attention in university courses, in museum exhibitions, and of course in political life. Aspects of this transformation have been baleful, reducing the variousness and diversity of human experience to a monochrome template of victimization and claims for recompense. Still, when it comes to works of art, there are indeed times and contexts in which a measured and appropriate attention to identity can reveal aspects that we may not have registered before, help bring to light hitherto unnoticed lines of influence, and compel us to see or hear things from a different perspective.

About twenty years ago, musicologists began to suggest that works by homosexual composers might directly express the condition of the musical artist in societies hostile to homosexuals. This approach, if applied obsessively, can become almost comical (I have given examples here). And yet since it is indisputably true that any musical work does in some way reflect the personality and experience of the composer, why not other aspects of identity as well?

The challenge lies in the details, and in our ability to make matters more rather than less precise: to avoid caricature. Pro Music Hebraica’s programs, with their varied groupings of composers and their works, challenge us to examine Jewish aspects of musical experience. To me, posing the question of what those aspects might be and how to define them, even if answers are not immediately forthcoming, is not “profoundly wrong” but profoundly right.

More about: Arts & Culture, Jewish music, Pro Musica Hebraica