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Пишет Misha Verbitsky (![[info]](http://lj.rossia.org/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} tiphareth) |
https://www.nationalgeographic.com/hist
Facing record levels of anti-Semitism, many French Jews
are joining an exodus to Israel. A third of all the French
Jews who’ve emigrated to Israel since its establishment in
1948 have done so in the last 10 years, according to data
from the Jewish Agency, which facilitates Jewish
immigration to Israel. The 1950 Law of Return enables any
Jew from around the world to become an Israeli citizen
entitled to numerous government benefits, including
financial aid, tax breaks, free Hebrew courses, and a free
flight to Israel. In 2015 alone, nearly 8,000 French Jews
made what is known as Aliyah—ascent to the Holy Land—the
largest number from any Western nation in a single year.
France is home to Europe’s largest Jewish population, the
third largest in the world after Israel and the United
States. Yet this historic community—dating back to the
Roman conquest of Jerusalem and expulsion of the Jewish
population 2,000 years ago—is in the midst of an
existential crisis.
France's interior minister has warned that anti-Jewish
sentiment is "spreading like poison." President Emmanuel
Macron declared that anti-Semitism was at its highest
levels since World War II. Amidst a string of attacks,
Prime Minister Edouard Philippe admitted that
anti-Semitism is “deeply rooted in French society.”
Eighty-nine percent of Jewish students in France report
experiencing anti-Semitic abuse, according to a poll
published in March. In 2017, Jews were the target of
nearly 40 percent of the violent incidents classified as
racially or religiously motivated, despite making up less
than 1 percent of the French population. In 2018,
anti-Semitic acts rose by nearly 75 percent.
The current wave of immigration began in earnest after the
2012 Toulouse massacre, in which a French-born Islamic
extremist opened fire at a Jewish day school, killing a
young rabbi who was shielding his three- and six-year-old
sons, then shooting to death both boys and an 8-year-old
girl. Three years later, a gunman pledging allegiance to
ISIS killed four customers at a kosher supermarket in
Paris. “In the days after that, we received thousands of
calls from people saying they wanted to leave,” says
Ouriel Gottlieb, the Jewish Agency’s director in
Paris. “Of the four people murdered at Hyper Casher, three
of the families moved to Israel.”
Nearly every year since has seen another deadly
anti-Semitic attack, from the beating and defenestration
of 65-year-old Sarah Halimi in 2017 to the gruesome
killing of Holocaust survivor Mireille Knoll in 2018. Less
frightening, but just as damaging to this fragile
community, are the constant smaller-scale incidents, such
as the desecration of Jewish cemeteries and memorials, or
attacks on boys wearing yarmulkes. Such attacks have led
many here to hide outward appearances of their
faith. Others choose to leave.
Those who’ve stayed say it’s only a matter of time before
the next grisly headline. “Things will only get worse,”
says Samuel Sandler, the father of the rabbi who was
killed in Toulouse. Sitting in a Paris cafe, Sandler
recalls how his parents fled Nazi Germany seeking a better
future for their children in France. His grandmother,
cousin, aunts, and uncles were killed in Auschwitz. “I
used to think, ‘The war is finished,’” he says, “‘We are
in France now. We are safe.’”
Facing record levels of anti-Semitism, many French Jews
are joining an exodus to Israel. A third of all the French
Jews who’ve emigrated to Israel since its establishment in
1948 have done so in the last 10 years, according to data
from the Jewish Agency, which facilitates Jewish
immigration to Israel. The 1950 Law of Return enables any
Jew from around the world to become an Israeli citizen
entitled to numerous government benefits, including
financial aid, tax breaks, free Hebrew courses, and a free
flight to Israel. In 2015 alone, nearly 8,000 French Jews
made what is known as Aliyah—ascent to the Holy Land—the
largest number from any Western nation in a single year.
France is home to Europe’s largest Jewish population, the
third largest in the world after Israel and the United
States. Yet this historic community—dating back to the
Roman conquest of Jerusalem and expulsion of the Jewish
population 2,000 years ago—is in the midst of an
existential crisis.
France's interior minister has warned that anti-Jewish
sentiment is "spreading like poison." President Emmanuel
Macron declared that anti-Semitism was at its highest
levels since World War II. Amidst a string of attacks,
Prime Minister Edouard Philippe admitted that
anti-Semitism is “deeply rooted in French society.”
Eighty-nine percent of Jewish students in France report
experiencing anti-Semitic abuse, according to a poll
published in March. In 2017, Jews were the target of
nearly 40 percent of the violent incidents classified as
racially or religiously motivated, despite making up less
than 1 percent of the French population. In 2018,
anti-Semitic acts rose by nearly 75 percent.
The current wave of immigration began in earnest after the
2012 Toulouse massacre, in which a French-born Islamic
extremist opened fire at a Jewish day school, killing a
young rabbi who was shielding his three- and six-year-old
sons, then shooting to death both boys and an 8-year-old
girl. Three years later, a gunman pledging allegiance to
ISIS killed four customers at a kosher supermarket in
Paris. “In the days after that, we received thousands of
calls from people saying they wanted to leave,” says
Ouriel Gottlieb, the Jewish Agency’s director in
Paris. “Of the four people murdered at Hyper Casher, three
of the families moved to Israel.”
Nearly every year since has seen another deadly
anti-Semitic attack, from the beating and defenestration
of 65-year-old Sarah Halimi in 2017 to the gruesome
killing of Holocaust survivor Mireille Knoll in 2018. Less
frightening, but just as damaging to this fragile
community, are the constant smaller-scale incidents, such
as the desecration of Jewish cemeteries and memorials, or
attacks on boys wearing yarmulkes. Such attacks have led
many here to hide outward appearances of their
faith. Others choose to leave.
Those who’ve stayed say it’s only a matter of time before
the next grisly headline. “Things will only get worse,”
says Samuel Sandler, the father of the rabbi who was
killed in Toulouse. Sitting in a Paris cafe, Sandler
recalls how his parents fled Nazi Germany seeking a better
future for their children in France. His grandmother,
cousin, aunts, and uncles were killed in Auschwitz. “I
used to think, ‘The war is finished,’” he says, “‘We are
in France now. We are safe.’”
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