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If you're a listener to this show, you already know that some of the most important conversations in Jewish life happen at the intersections where ideas meet lived experience, where history meets the present, and where identity gets negotiated in real time. That's why I want to recommend another podcast, Can We Talk from the Jewish Women's Archive? Each season, hosts Nahani Rouse, Jenn Richler, and Judith Rosenbaum sit down with writers, activists, and scholars to trace how gender shapes Jewish culture. Last season they explored Iranian Jewish identity, how Jewish women shaped Saturday Night Live, and how communities are healing in the wake of October 7th. And their new season just kicked off a deep dive into the Yiddish word, what it connotes and what the term reveals about Jewish language. If you liked our recent episode with Rachel Schachter on the Yiddish Renaissance, I think you'll really enjoy it. You can find can we talk@jwa.org canwetalk or wherever you get your podcasts. Hi everyone, welcome to Identity Crisis, a show from the Shalom Hartman Institute, creating better conversations about the essential issues facing Jewish life. I'm Yehuda Kertzer, recording on Friday, April 17, 2026. So I want to admit something at the outset of this episode that I'm sure many of you regular listeners already know, or at least some suspect. As an American Jew, I've never really gotten Europe, or at least European jewelry in the present. Maybe some of this is just good old classic ugly American ness, but I've not only grown up here and have steeped myself in American culture and values, but I also argue very regularly about the importance of the exceptional nature of the American Jewish experience. And in so doing I tend to see the American Jewish experience as something fundamentally different than the Old World Jewish experience. I would go so far as to say that European Jewry echoes to me more as diaspora in the classic sense, the new versions continuous with those of the past. America is the New World. Our experience of it is not quite diaspora, maybe not exactly homeland, but something different, something special. In contrast, I've always found much of Europe to feel kind of haunted. I was in high school, I traveled throughout Poland on the March of Living. I became mesmerized on our long bus rides by the dark forests, wondering which of them housed lost, invisible mass graves of Jews, and looking out the window at the little towns that now could no longer be called shtetls, but which once bred the Jews in Judaism that I wound up inheriting thousands of miles away. When I was in college, I spent time in Minsk and thereabouts teaching Judaism to Young post Soviet Jews who had been stripped of access to their cultural heritage. And I felt throughout that experience like a lost stranger in the very place, literally the exact place from which my great grandparents had come. The difference being that now I was bringing Judaism from the New World to the very place from which so much of it had originated. Another time in college, I visited my brother, who was spending the year in Romania working for the joint. I traveled with him across Romania throughout Hanukkah, bringing light and celebration to local communities. And let me say, if you ever doubt whether Jews can experience epigenetic trauma even if they are not themselves direct genetic heirs to the trauma itself, I recommend taking night trains across Eastern Europe and trying to sleep. A few years ago, Stephanie and I took our kids to Italy. We were standing in a lovely market in one of Rome's central squares when one of the kids looked down and noticed that we were standing on top of a marker that was in the paving stones on which it was written. This is the site where the Talmud was burned in 1553. Oops. Right beneath our feet. Much of Europe, Eastern, central, some of Western Europe, feels like a contradiction to me. A place where Judaism's narrative of continuity was largely forged. A place where the Judaism many of us know and take for granted was created, formulated, articulated and lived. It's also a set of lands that remain saturated with the blood of our ancestors. And I say none of this to demean or diminish the vibrancy of contemporary Jewish life in Europe. I've been following for years the great excitement, the work of some of the new jccs, the new Polin Museum that tells the story of over a thousand years of Jewish life in Poland. I've had many friends and colleagues working on building Jewish life and education in Europe. All I'm sharing today is a feeling, a sensibility born of my story as a Jew who came of age and the twin extraordinary stories of American Jewish and and Israeli Jewish at homeness which felt in stark contrast to and in the shadow of the great betrayal of at homeness that Europe committed against its Jews a few years ago. I was grateful to meet and make a new friend. Flora Kassen, our guest today, reached out to me several years ago for a chat. I actually went back and looked at my email to see when that was this morning. It was in early November 2023. At the time, Flora was a history professor at Washuan in St. Louis and struggling, if I can say so out loud, Flora. In the whirlwind aftermath of October 7th, the turmoil that quickly emerged on university campuses. Flora's personal life and professional expertise sits at the meeting point of the issues of this episode and even my introduction. She is Belgian and now American scholar of medieval and early modern Jewish history. And although many good scholars don't always like to admit it, a person for whom the personal, professional and political are intertwined, by the way, I think that makes for better scholars and certainly more compelling people. What does it mean really to be a European Jew who studies both the vibrancy and tragedy of European Jews and then begins to encounter the way that that history is starting to rhyme again in the present? Since that first conversation, Flora became affiliated with the Hartman Institute. Actually came to us briefly for a year as a stint as full time faculty member before moving over to a very senior position at Brandeis University. She has a new and beautiful book out now. It's called Stained Glass, A Reflective History of Antisemitism. I want to say it's a hard book to describe. It's a little bit memoir, some analysis of Europe and America in the moment. A history of European Jews, a history of Flora's own family. As per the title, it feels like a meditation that offers an opportunity for reflection. So, Flora, thanks for coming on the show today. Thanks for this book. Thanks for being on Identity Crisis.
B
Thanks for having me.
A
So I shared my story of feeling haunted by Europe. That certainly can't be your story. And without having to summarize the whole thing, I'm both curious if you can respond to that, to what it feels like for an American to say that European Jewry is haunted. As someone who is a European Jew, and to what extent do you feel like that is just. Well, you Americans see everything through the prism of America. And to what extent does it actually maybe capture some truth about European Jewish life that may have never fully reckoned with all of its ghosts?
B
I think it captures more than a little bit of truth and I think I say that in the book. One of the things that surprised me very quickly after I moved to America and, you know, I came to go to grad school, I wanted to study Jewish history. And I didn't expect that one of the things I would discover is a completely different Judaism than the one I knew. You know, I grew up in a very close knit, warm Jewish community in Antwerp, but it always felt, and I only realized that in comparison. Right. Sometimes you have to leave to understand the difference from where you are.
A
Sure.
B
And I remember I was at nyu, first high holidays. I get that email and there's like a menu of different services I can go to. And I'm thinking, you know, this is amazing. And then I could try one and I could try the other. And I find that in American Judaism, there's an aliveness and. And there's a creativity and a dynamism that I didn't know growing up that. That felt in some ways maybe stunted. Right. Because of. Of the Holocaust and what happened. And you, you. You need a certain confidence. I think you need maybe a critical mass of people there, a society that is also receptive maybe to that kind of experimentation. And frankly, that I'm still impressed with. I know that right now many American Jews are worried, and I understand why. And at the same time, I'm looking at the variety of responses, the creativity, the creation of new institutions, and I'm amazed.
A
Yeah, so we'll come back to our fears later on and what's shifting and what's changing. But let's stay a little bit on this kind of dialogue between America and Europe and through the prism of your own experience. Your stories at the beginning of the book are enchanting and funny about the things that one, as a European, wouldn't know, like, you know, go out of the campus five minutes, and it's right there, and you're not realizing, obviously that means drive five minutes. You know, in your last comment, you said the difference between Jewish life in Europe has to do a lot with the kind of background of the Holocaust. In your comments, you're also saying, like, the openness for different kinds of religious expression, different kind of religious diversity is available to American Jewry, and that can't simply be about the Holocaust itself. What do you think are the different drivers for the ways that American Jews seem to behave around religion and culture, about being American versus how European Jews behave around those same set of questions? What do you think are the main differences that now, as a person who grew up in Europe, but having lived in America for, I think, close to 20 years, what are kind of your big observations beyond the memory of the Holocaust about what animates European and American Jewry to behave so differently?
B
You know, I think American society probably in general is one where you have much greater religious pluralism, whether it's, you know, within Christian communities or within Jewish communities. And so I think maybe part of it is, you know, when you live in that context and that background, it makes it easier. It also seems to me that structurally, Europe has that kind of maybe greater separation between religion and public life, and that maybe constrains those kinds of experimentation. A Little bit too. But I, you know, looking back in retrospect, I also think that, and you know, that's going back to the Holocaust a little bit. But there's a sense of comfort and trust in a society that allows you to experiment and do new things. And that in many ways, maybe, or certainly in Belgium, I don't want to necessarily speak about all of Europe. I think France has more of that, but that in many ways it's just not there. Right. There's a sense that we're not quite sure what that society might do, or we know what it's done and we drew lessons from that. And it's funny because early on when I started to work on this book, I thought I wanted the title to be something like, why not there? Why is it that what I saw here in America, this sort of flowering and creativity of Jewish life, I didn't see in Europe sort of, you know, what can we learn from Americans? How is it that, you know, in the continent that's had Jewish life since the Roman Republic or even earlier, you don't have that today? You know, it's so sad.
A
Yeah.
B
And here you've got, you know, 200 years of Jewish life. But it's, it's incredible, it's interesting.
A
One of the cute little anecdotes you have around this issue is you said you're sitting in a library, I think it was at NYU as a graduate student, and you heard three students casually talking about like, one says how annoying it is to go home for Christmas and another one talking about like being home for the Jewish holidays and being kind of totally taken aback that a Jewish student just casually is talking about their Jewishness, but also even kind of semi disparagingly without fear of embarrassment. I wonder whether some of what's going on there is that, you know, Europe was for so long a fundamentally religious place, so much so that European religious identity is like, needs the Jew as the inverse identity to be able to self articulate and has been trying so hard since modernity and especially over the last 100, 150 years to suppress that feature of religious identity that religion becomes a kind of uncomfortable thing to talk about in public. And maybe the American story doesn't have that is just self consciously religious and that's okay. I wonder if that helps to understand why you're able to see like why weird American Jews can just talk about being Jewish in public in ways that ironically, European Jews who have had Judaism there for thousands of years are unable to do.
B
I think that's Definitely part of it. And I think more broadly, America, I think, has constructed itself as a, you know, a collection of different groups and identities and minorities and people from here and people from there. And everybody can in one way or another try and combine their story with the American story. And I think that doesn't work as well in Europe. And so I certainly think that's a part of it, but another part of it going off of what you were saying on that, you know, centuries long history of. Right. Defining the Jews as the ultimate religious order. The title of the book, Stained Glass, also refers to the Cathedral of Brussels that has, you know, that's entirely dedicated, in fact, to a host desecration accusation. So Jews were accused of stealing the, you know, eucharistic wafers that they're giving out at mass and torturing them and literally all the windows, all the paintings, you know, the tapestries, and you can even go downstairs in the treasury and still see the wafers that supposedly were, you know, tortured 700 years ago. And so I think there are also layers and ways in which that history is visible. Even if people think differently. Times have changed. And I think that's a feature of the book that sort of toggling back and forth because I had never given so much thought to that. You know, you grew up in a place, things are how they are. Right. It's normal. Until I arrived at the University of North Carolina and people were arguing all the time about a Confederate statue at the entrance on campus. And one of the arguments was that, you know, having that on campus sends a signal that not everyone is welcome. Right. That black students and black faculty are not as welcome as everyone else. And it made me wonder, Right. The fact that you still have that imagery in Brussels, it's really central in some ways, but in many places in Europe, what does that mean? And it's interesting to me that it's a conversation that Americans are having. It's not a conversation that's happening in Europe and it's not even one you can hope to start. Right. And that's also part of it.
C
Yeah.
A
You don't touch on this in the book fully, but the analogy to the lingering legacy of the transatlantic slave trade and slavery in America as a kind of feature of the American experience versus antisemitism as just a landscape feature of Europe is a really interesting one. I heard your colleague at Brandeis, Alex K. Once say something to this effect of. Part of the fundamental reason why the position of Jews in America is so different than in Europe is that in Europe. They are the alternate identity around which European identity is constructed. And they show up in America, and they are not the alternate identity around which American identity constructed. That's black Americans, and that puts American Jews in a fundamentally different place. But I do think you're right to notice that, like, America also can't quite figure out how to make sense of this horrific stain on its identity. And one of the ways that America responds to it is by trying to not talk about it. The difference, though, and this is a really key part of the book, I found it. Some of the most provocative pieces of the book is that Europe has tried to make an effort to heavily memorialize the events of the Holocaust. And you argue in the book that it may have backfired. Can you go deeper into that? You talk about, like, the costs of making people remember the Holocaust as something that has not actually worked to prevent the continuous re. Rise of antisemitism. So what do you mean by that? What does it mean? That maybe it was too costly, maybe it was the wrong way to do this kind of memorialization. And why, even in spite of the fact that the Holocaust totally wrecked Europe morally and otherwise, the memorialization culture has not had the effect.
B
You know, I think it was always probably more superficial than what it seemed. Right. I think when people looked at it from here, from the United States States, looking at Europe and thinking, oh, Europe 40, 50 years later, they're really reckoning with their past. And I think in a way, it was something that maybe, you know, politicians and academics and cultural elites had agreed was very important. And, you know, that is not so different, right. Than here, that once you start opening those dark pasts, you know, you force people to reckon with, write an image of their country, their past, their history that they don't necessarily want to reckon with. Right. And it took a while, frankly, for Europe to really start. Right. It's not probably. I mean, I think Germany was earlier because you have a generation of Germans who are looking back, right? What did our parents do? And so they're debating that earlier. But talking about Western Europe, it's probably not until the 1990s is that it's really starting. It partly starts because of American pressure, you know, first on Swiss bank and then the claims conference. It's not something that, you know, spontaneously, suddenly people wanted to pay reparations. And it happens in a society that I think as a whole was occupied. Right. I mean, take Belgium. The war didn't only happen to Jews. The whole country was occupied. A lot of people have stories of Hunger and imprisonment and right deprivations and the loss of freedom and dignity and so on. Of course, for Jews it was a death sentence, and for everyone else it was a very, very difficult time. But I think that at some point there has been that focus on the Holocaust and it became that kind of thing that you almost write countries really had to reckon with, with their past to become, you know, bona fide members of the European Union. Right. And I think on some level people resented that. That's what I've come to. To realize and feel. Why do we focus on their suffering so much? Why, why should we pay? I mean, our grandparents made a mistake. We didn't do anything. Right. Why should we pay for that? And so I think something that became, you know, you looked at it from the United States and it looked like Europe was really reckoning. And I think from the inside it felt different. There were a lot of questions and they were pushed under. And you know what's interesting to me that I realized in retrospect there's also things happening in the Middle east in those years, right. The second intifada and so on, and anti Semitism started to rise in Europe and everything has been attributed to what's happening in the Middle East. And I think what I'm asking in the book is, could it be that it was that also. Right. That sort of feeling of, you know, why is their suffering more important? Why do we have to care about them? That created an underlying tension. Yeah.
A
It kind of feels like there are three interlocking forces for why this memorialization culture of the Holocaust hasn't worked. Worked. And you alluded to all of them. One of them is like a kind of denial story. We were also victims. It wasn't us, it was our grandparents. That's clearly the case of what's going on in Poland with all this legislation where the Polands want to portray themselves as being victims of the Holocaust as opposed to perpetrators, you have some measure of guilt. The more you keep talking to people about their responsibility, the more you're going to invite a backlash. But I think that the most evocative is kind of where we started, which is that if you have a town that simultaneously has a Holocaust memorial and still has the much more auspicious, you know, 14th century church that is dedicated to the Jews desecrating the host, one of those has a more enduring legacy in the cultural imagination of the people than the other. You know, it's like if you're not willing to really interrogate the roots of how deeply baked in Christian antisemitism is into European society, then you'll enable the possibility of this cognitive dissonance that. That sits in the center of the town. And yes, it's too bad that the Holocaust happened, but you're not really carrying through the full thread of the ramifications of one to the other.
B
Right. And I think that's one of the points in the book. Right. That there's maybe a depth to it. And look, you know, it's difficult to reckon with history. And sometimes I wonder if there was maybe a better way to do it, you know, and also, we've taken for granted, you know, those who remember the past won't repeat it. But I don't know who, you know, ever said that this was proven to be true. We've sort of accepted it axiomatically. And of course, I'm a historian, so I. I believe it's really important to remember the past. I believe it's important to know it. I'm not sure that it protects against repeating things or against atrocities happening. If anything, it hasn't. It hasn't proven to be true. And so I think we've also created a kind of moral narrative. If you don't do that, you're on the wrong side of history. You're not sort of, you know, a moral person who cares about. Right. Not repeating atrocities. And maybe it's enough to know and remember because we have to know history and not repeating atrocities, not being anti Semitic, not being racist, you know, whatever you're thinking about, that requires something else. Right.
A
Yeah.
B
And we, I think, put everything on that.
D
Yeah.
A
I think the scarier possibility is sometimes when you insist on narrating history, that people come along and want to imitate it actually, or replicate it or repeat it. You know, we assume, oh, everybody learns the lessons of history, but oftentimes people actually want to imitate it. I'm curious about the decision to become a historian. You allude to this earlier. Like, my parents were completely unsure about this because part of what the book is also about is exploring even the discipline and the dynamic of history. And in particular, at one point, you refer to Salah Baron's famous thesis about the lacrimose theory of Jewish history. Baron famously argued that it's a mistake for us to focus entirely on, like, the terrible things that happened to Jews as opposed to all of the vibrancy. I wonder how you're feeling about that these days, because as history goes in cycles and as we start to feel the kind of reaction, return of the ambience of antisemitism. What we gain and what we lose from trying to resist big narratives and big theories out of history and out of Jewish history in particular.
B
You know, one of the things I'm asking in the book is if, right, the historical profession, or at least maybe historians of the Jews sometimes went too far in saying we really should only focus on the vibrancy and lives of Jews. And I agree we should focus on that. But I wondered if we maybe focus too much on that and that made it harder for us to understand anti Semitism and its recurrence. I remember at some point in 2014, 15, there were a series of shootings, the Jewish movie museum in Brussels, you know, kosher grocery store in Paris. And I looked at it and I thought, I'm a historian, right? How did I not see this coming? I was totally surprised. But I also think that, you know, what is interesting about Baron, and I didn't understand that early on until I reread him much later, is that he's also arguing, and that's actually quite provocative, and we don't talk about that maybe in enough. He's saying, you know, modernity and democracy has not been that amazing thing for Jews that we think it is. And to imagine that, you know, the past, when Jewish communities, you know, were kind of right, core Jews, maybe of the Lord or had to make agreements in every city in which they live, but they had a kind of right communal autonomy and freedom and. And that gets lost. He's kind of saying, you know, we have to have a more balanced view, that both systems in a way have positives and negatives. And that with the transition to modernity, what Jews lost is having someone who, for whatever reason, oftentimes that person didn't even write like them, but decided to protect them. And in a society where there's a lot of hostility, that can help. And with the transition to modernity, where you have democracy and democracy is a numbers game, right? Sometimes your candidate wins and sometimes your candidate doesn't. But Jews as a community are a small number of people typically. And so it's much harder to. You have to live in a society that in a way wants to, right. Protect and enable minorities to live freely like everyone else. And that doesn't always happen, right? And I think that contrast there is also very interesting that he didn't say, you know, it wasn't all bad in the past. He also said, but the present is also not all perfect. Right. What we imagined is going to be that era of, you know, freedom and liberal Democracy and everything's going to be amazing didn't necessarily materialize. And I think that's another very interesting point that he makes.
A
Yeah. There's another piece that you engage in in response to, like, how history is supposed to work, which is you talk about how historians tend to resist the kind of theological narrative of antisemitism. It's eternal and it can't go away. And of course, historians are always going to say it's contextual. And I couldn't help but feel the tug, though, the emotional tug in your book about, like, a more responsible way of talking about the inescapability of antisemitism. Can you talk about that a little bit? Like, it's not eternal. It doesn't have to be theological. But it's foolish for us to pretend as though it's always contextual. Because if you say it's always contextual, then you can always say things like, well, there wouldn't be anti Semitism if it wasn't for the state of Israel, or it wouldn't be anti Semitism but for the fact that Jews control the economy. Can you talk a little bit more about that dynamic, both as a historical and as someone who's experiencing this story viscerally?
B
It's very difficult. Right. Because it is one of these ideas in the historical profession that people, and I think rightly so, feel very strongly about. Right. It's not eternal, and I agree. But sometimes stating that so strongly prevents us from understanding why it is recurring and why it's happening, happening again. And I wish we could do that more. Right. We found maybe a better language to talk about these episodes of recurrences, to talk about how patterns, maybe, you know, the language changes, the. The context is different, but we see stereotypes, we see patterns, we see things happening again. And so I wish that there were maybe a better and a more nuanced way to understand that. And I tried to highlight that in the book. I don't think I have fully found the way to do that. But how do you write, understand and explain that without falling into that simplistic narrative, like that lacrimose narrative that Baron criticized, that said all of Jewish history is a history of tears, and it's a history of right persecution and suffering. It's not true. There's a lot of times where Jews live very well and had beautiful and creative lives, and yet there is a thread of exclusion and violence against Jews that runs through that history. And how do we explain that without adopting a more sort of simplistic narrative? And that's what I try to do. And I think it's important because that's what we need to understand.
A
So the way that that shows up near the end of the book is in search for language to help explain the anti Semitic turn, you have two terms that you want to put into the replacist antisemitism and eliminationist antisemitism, one of which operates on the right and one of them operates more on the left. Do you want to unpack those terms and what you're trying to do by giving them that terminology?
B
You know, I was trying to. Instead of worrying about what is the right definition, and the definition to an extent is always somewhat abstract, I was trying to say, let's listen to what people say and be more descriptive in what is happening. And so when I tried to do that and I started reading about what people say on the left, what people say on the right, it struck me that broadly I could find these two descriptors. And of course it doesn't capture everything, but that would broadly capture it. And so the replacement theory is the idea that white people are being replaced, whether it's in the United States or in Europe by immigrants. And how do you explain that? Because people who have that theory believe that white people are the better and then smarter race. And so how do you explain that it is even possible that they would be replaced over time by people coming from different places, from different minority groups? And the answer they come up with with is that it's some kind of Jewish plot. Right. In a way it echoes, right. The older anti Jewish conspiracy from the 19th century, from the Nazi era. That's one strand that I think is very prominent on, on the right and that we hear in, in a variety of different contexts today.
A
I'm going to interrupt you for a second to say it feels to me like both of these will ultimately converge on Israel too, surprisingly. Because I think some of what we're seeing from the right actually of like, why is America giving away our health care dollars to the state of Israel? Has replaceist qualities to it. It's like, why are you trying to take away from us and giving to the Jews, right. Something that belongs to us.
B
Right. And I think that's become very prominent in the past year. Right. I mean, my book was already gone to the publisher. I think I mentioned it very briefly, that they both converge. But yeah, the incorporation of the anti Israel narrative into that right wing replacement theory has exploded in some ways in the past year.
A
Yeah. And on the eliminationist side and on the Eliminationist side.
B
I was trying to, you know, find a way around that debate about, right. Critique of Israel and anti Semitism. And it seemed to me that, you know, critiquing Israel is not anti Semitic. Any state can and should be criticized. But the more I was reading and listening to people and listening to what they were saying, it seemed to me that there were maybe two points at which that kind of critique veered into a more antisemitic narrative. And, you know, one is when instead of critiquing, you know, people start echoing older antisemitic stereotypes and narratives, right? If instead of talking about Israeli military actions, suddenly everybody's talking about, you know, all Israelis are killing babies or something like that. Right. And that echoes those older accusations. But the other one seemed to me that when, you know, it's not a critique anymore of, you know, they should do this better or they should do that better, but it's, the country is so inherently right, flawed and evil, it should be eliminated. Right? There should not be a Jewish state. And that's where I think it veers again. And it seemed to me important to articulate that because we keep going back and forth. And, you know, there are people who are saying, who are basically saying that all critics of Israel are anti Semitic, and that's not right. And then there are those who are saying that it never is. And I think that's not right either. And so I try to find, at least for me, those two points where I think, you know, I'm comfortable saying that because once you talk about, about eliminating a whole country, nobody's innocent in this country. Nobody. You know what I mean? I think there, it's a different level.
A
You know, I know you well enough to know the nuanced views you have on Israel. And one of the things I actually liked about the way you do this book, compared to things like the IHRA definition or the Jerusalem definition, is that I know what those definitions are trying to do. They're trying to grasp on clear articulations of the very tension that you're describing, mostly because they're trying to help people, like in law enforcement and in other places figure out what's actual hate speech. So I, I understand the need for, like, let me reduce this complicated issue into rules, but I think what your book does is it's like, it's not always that neat and clear cut. We have to know when things cross a threshold. But intelligent, sentient people should be able to know how to cross the threshold. And in some ways, the anecdotes do more than even the rules. Like, you give an example early on of a colleague in North Carolina who said something to the effect to you, to the effect of like, you can't reasonably expect much sympathy for Jewish suffering given what the state of Israel is doing to Palestinians, which is so morally incoherent. But hearing it narratively there does something more and more powerful than just saying, you can criticize Israel, but not like this. You know what I mean? Like, it has. That's what story helps to illustrate of, like, no, that's just not how morality and power and vulnerability operates. That we need to create, I don't know, narrative space to help sort out these distinctions as opposed to simply kind of legal and probative space.
B
And that's really what I try to do in book. So I thank you for highlighting that. And it took me a long time to, you know, get to that place where I figured out the way to most maybe helpfully do this and present that argument is to layer, you know, all these different stories in small chapters.
A
Yeah.
B
And then in a way, and which was difficult for me as a scholar, to try to take a step back and not tell people what they have to think, you know, but to. To let them, in a way, draw their conclusions. Right. As scholars, we often, you know, start with the argument and end with the argument. And I kind of tried not to do that. I thought, yeah, there's a story to tell, and I can provide all these different layers. And I hope when people read it, they can, you know, people are smart and they can figure out their own opinion. And partly, also, what I find sometimes very difficult in this debate is that I think name calling or a kind of, you know, moral designation has replaced thoughtfulness or analytic carefulness. You know what I mean? And sometimes you try to navigate very complicated problems, and people want you to say one thing or the other thing. And, you know, if you don't, then, you know, you're complicit. You're about to. And so I was trying to really navigate that in the book. And so that's how I tried to do that, by telling the story. And hopefully people will make up their minds. And I don't expect everybody to agree or to think the same thing. And I hope there will be interesting conversations.
A
Yeah, I want to make sure not to miss the piece of the book that I found most staggering, actually, and courageous, which was a series of chapters in the middle of the book where in talking about your own family history as part of this story, you describe the history Of, I believe it's your grandparents, your essentially discovery that part of the way in which they survive the Shoah is through a stretch of time that they spend as Belgians in the Congo. And seeing them in colonial garb and the struggle, the dissonance that Christianity creates for you in both recognizing that they were doing whatever they needed to do to survive, but in doing so, they landed amidst a story as the kind of antagonists in, effectively, the global colonial criminal enterprise in Congo. And I, first of all, I think it was just courageous to tell that story and also to invite readers to say, stop turning all of these histories both of vulnerability and the perpetration of vulnerability on others as like, the simple stories. And can you still listen to this story of a Jew navigating questions of antisemitism, even if for a brief period of time, your ancestors kind of traveled into that story? I wonder if you could just say a word on, like, the decision to include that in the story and what you're hoping your readers get from reckoning with that piece of your family history.
B
You know, that was the most difficult, I think, part to write because, you know, it's my grandparents and I know them. They're wonderful people. They wouldn't hurt a fly. And yet at some point, I realized that for three years, they lived in the Belgium, Congo. And, you know, they were in Belgium until the summer of 1942. So they escaped just before the deportations out of Belgium started. And it took them, right, almost a year traveling, hiding through France to make it out there to arrive in Spain and then to the Belgium, Congo. And in their attempt to cross the Pyrenees by foot, actually, because they had no other way to get out of there, they were arrested. And somehow my grandfather was able to get in touch with the Belgium consul in Madrid. And he's a man who didn't, you know, he didn't save any Jews. But when he heard that my grandfather had fought in the Belgian army during the Nazi invasion in 1940, he said, actually, they've asked me to send soldiers to fight in Africa. If you agree to do that, I will give you the papers and I will help you out of there. And so they said, yes. And that was the agreement. Right. As soon as they arrived in the Congo, my grandfather had to join the Belgian military there, and they made him commander of a big company of black Congolese soldiers. And, you know, I have that photo album from my grandmother where, you know, I see him in his, you know, white colonial uniform. He sometimes had to discipline his soldiers. And, you Know, in the Congo, that meant, you know, sometimes whipping them or having someone else, but he would order it.
A
Yeah.
B
My grandmother set up a household, you know, where she had, I think, six or seven, right, black servants. And they call them boys at the time. And I see that in her writings and her letters. And it's extremely pejorative. And to suddenly reckon with that in the middle of a Holocaust story. And knowing my grandparents, I really struggled with that, with how do I tell it in a way that tells the truth, says what happened, but at the same time, maybe honors the circumstances and who they were. And, you know, I think we sometimes think that, you know, learning history is maybe about right, judging people and figure out who was right and who was wrong. And what I discover there is that it's very hard for me to, you know, say who was right and who was wrong. Right. I mean, obviously, what they did when they were in the Congo, to some extent, it was wrong. And they became participants in that colonial regime. And we know the Belgian Congo was maybe the worst European colonial regime in Africa, and I have no illusions about that. And yet, at the same time, they never wanted to be there. They never would have gone if not for the war. While there, they felt excluded by the rest of the Belgian colonial elite. So it's a very complicated story, and I tried to tell it that way.
A
But what it really does, Flora, is it shows the ways in which real conversations for Jews today, 2026, about power and vulnerability are so much less simplistic than the ways that the worst forces in our community tell that story, and more importantly, that our enemies tell that story. And we should be better capable of conducting that conversation internally, not just for our own moral integrity, but also so that we can be better and more effective narrators to others when we want them to understand us. Right. I mean, it's not surprising to me that, like, when young people now come to Hartman programs, the conversation they most want to have is around power and vulnerability, because that's what everybody's talking about when it comes to Jews. Right? The Jews have too much power. And then they look at their own community, and Jews are obsessed with power because we feel like we don't have enough to keep ourselves alive, and they're looking for something different. I think that part of what you're signaling with this story is like, I can handle it. And you even say at one point, why am I putting on my own complicated feelings about my family's legacy on my grandparents, who are literally trying in that moment to survive? I think that that's, like, a really important distinction between what is this legacy that I bear and what are my responsibilities and circumstances in the present. And they can't be completely saddled on one to another. Know what I'm saying?
B
Right. No, you're. You're totally right. And I think what matters is what we do with that history in the present. Right?
A
That's right.
B
It's less about judging the past, but saying, like, you know, we are the sort of custodians of our history.
A
That's right.
B
And what do we do with it? Right. That's what matters. And yeah, the question of power and vulnerability is interesting, Right. Because many people think Jews are powerful. Many Jews feel very vulnerable right now. And how do we navigate that?
A
Yeah, there's much more to talk about, a lot to talk about with academia. But I'll ask you one last question, which is, you know, going back to my opening about what I always understood Europe to be and what I always understood America to be until less than a decade ago, I always understood Europe as the place where they have to have armed guards stationed outside of Jewish institutions. And that is changing. I was like, that's so weird, and it's so awful, and it's so embarrassing for them. And look, in America, we don't have that. And now it's become very obvious that major Jewish institutions have to have security stationed outside the door. And I wonder about the psychological impulse of that. But, you know, you said initially that one of the things that you wanted out of this book was to help European Jews build a Judaism that's a little bit more like American. But I would say the reverse. First question, what do we need to do here in America to prevent that story of what European Jews are dealing with from overtaking us? And, I mean, not just what do we have to do to protect ourselves, but what resources do we need to have internally to continue to believe that the path that American Jewry is going doesn't have to be a path of inevitable decline and inevitable experience of vulnerability.
B
That's the hardest question, right?
A
Yeah. That's why I did it last.
B
You know, I often hear people say, you know, why did we build all these Holocaust museum? Why did we invest in Holocaust education? It hasn't worked. Antisemitism is coming back, but I think maybe the more correct way to frame it is it has worked. Right. If you look at the second half of the 20th century and you talked about that, Right. That's the American Jewish community, community that you grew up with, that figured out, right? How to make a space for itself in that society and how to show up and how to, you know, be safe. And. And I think, you know, in, you know, the. The first two decades of the 21st century, things changed and we have to find new ways maybe of protecting ourselves, be safe, be. Be part of that society. What I find, you know, impressive is the way that people still continue to show up. Right. Even though synagogues have to be right, have to have protection now. And that's more like Europe. But what I've often seen in Europe is, you know, Jews retreat or leave. And that's also part of the book. And I don't see that here. I see American Jews saying, no, we have a place here and we're going you to show, show you, and we're going to contribute and we're going to try to explain our story differently. And, you know, I think the Hartman Institute is a great participant in that. And we don't know what exactly is going to work and when, what isn't going to work. But I do see that creativity at work. And, you know, even around the debate about, you know, Zionism versus anti Zionism, you know, I find it interesting that, for example, people are creative, you know, anti Zionist shuls and congregations. You know, I may not agree politically with, with everything they do, but I find it fascinating that they're saying, you know, yeah, there are different ways of being Jewish, and in fact, there should be. Right. I think American Judaism doesn't want to be pigeonholed in just one form or one version. It's always been a kind of plurality and to continue to work on that and build that. And, you know, in a way, what worries me more are maybe the internal conflicts that come out of that. I would like people to find better ways to talk about all those things. You know, I would like for it to be possible for people to say, you know, I'm Zionist, you're anti Zionist. Okay. We have, you know, big differences in worldview, but we can still write, sit at the same table, talk about our Judaism and our views, and think about other ways of doing it in the future. And so from where I sit, I realize it feels like a time of crisis, and it is. And at the same time, I do see that creativity at work. And so that gives me hope. I think that structurally the situation in America is different than in Europe. Right. You don't have those centuries of exclusion and violence, and you have a society that structurally and maybe constitutionally has been better able at making, you know, space for a plurality of people and I think frankly that's under attack too. And so, you know, in some ways that worries me, but I think if people manage to maintain that, I am hopeful in a way.
A
The book is called Stained Glass from Flora Kassin from the New Jewish Press. Thanks so much Flora for being on the show today.
B
Thank you Yehuda.
C
Here are some other things that are happening at the Sholem Hartman Institute Last week in Washington, D.C. yehuda Kurtzer spoke with Jeffrey Goldberg, Editor in Chief of the Atlantic, on public discourse, peoplehood, citizenship and conscience, and explored how American Jews can navigate this moment with clarity and responsibility. Thank you to those who attended in person. You'll be able to hear this conversation right here next week on the Identity Crisis feed. We're getting ready for Season two of Future Tense, another podcast from the Shalom Hartman Institute that launched last summer. The college student hosts came to New York to record in our studio. This podcast puts the biggest Jewish questions of today into the hands of the leaders of tomorrow. We can't wait for the new season to drop in fall 2026. This week and next week, the Hartman Institute is coming to a city near you in the US And Canada. Join Yesi Klein Halevi in Vancouver, Detroit and Palo Alto and join Yehuda Kurtzer in Toronto for wide ranging and timely learning on the big ideas and questions of this moment in Jewish Life. Visit shalom hartman.orgevents to learn more and register.
D
Thanks for listening to our show and special thanks to our guest Flora Kassin. Identity Crisis is produced by me, Tessa Zitter and our executive producer is Maital Friedman. This episode was researched by Gabrielle Feinstone and edited by Josh Allen with music provided by so called transcripts of our show are now available on our website. Typically a week after an episode airs, we're always looking for ideas, but what we should cover in future episodes. So if you have a topic you'd like to hear about or if you have comments about this episode, please write to us@identitycrisisalomhartman.org for more ideas from the Shalom Hartman Institute about what's unfolding right now. Sign up for our newsletter in the show notes and subscribe to this podcast everywhere. Podcasts are available. See you next time and thanks for listening.
Episode: The Afterlife of Antisemitism — with Flora Cassen
Host: Yehuda Kurtzer
Guest: Flora Cassen
Date: April 21, 2026
In this episode, Yehuda Kurtzer sits down with historian Flora Cassen to discuss the evolving nature—and “afterlife”—of antisemitism in Europe and America. Drawing on Cassen's personal journey from Belgium to the US, her academic scholarship, and her new book Stained Glass: A Reflective History of Antisemitism, the conversation explores how Holocaust memory, societal trust, power, and vulnerability shape Jewish experiences. The episode seeks to bring nuance to debates about historical memory, Jewish identity, and the shifting forms of antisemitism in the 21st century.
Timestamps: 02:00–13:20
Yehuda Kurtzer shares his “haunted” perception of Europe:
Flora Cassen reflects on discovering American Jewish creativity:
Drivers of Difference:
Timestamps: 12:04–17:30
Speaking Jewishness in Public:
Stained Glass and Living Memory:
Timestamps: 17:32–23:22
Memorialization Backfiring?
Remembering Doesn't Always Prevent Repeating:
Timestamps: 23:22–29:46
Lacrimose Theory (History of Tears) Debate:
Contextualization vs. Inescapability of Antisemitism:
Timestamps: 29:46–36:15
Replaceist Antisemitism (Right) and Eliminationist Antisemitism (Left):
Quote: “Intelligent, sentient people should be able to know how to cross the threshold [between critique and antisemitism]. And in some ways, the anecdotes do more than even the rules.” — Kurtzer (34:23)
Nuance over Name Calling:
Timestamps: 37:34–44:26
Family History: Holocaust Survival in Colonial Congo:
Reconciling Victimhood and Complicity:
Contemporary Jewish Questions:
Timestamps: 44:42–49:27
Security and Resilience:
Pluralism as Protective:
Hope Despite Crisis:
This rich conversation draws together Cassen’s personal family history, historical expertise, and contemporary concerns to show that the afterlife of antisemitism is deeply linked to how Jews negotiate belonging, memory, creativity, and conflict—within themselves and among others. It raises hard questions about the efficacy of memorialization, the danger of simple stories, and the importance of community resilience and honest dialogue.
Recommended reading: Flora Cassen’s Stained Glass: A Reflective History of Antisemitism
For more on the future of Jewish identity, power, and pluralism, listen to the next episode and explore other Hartman Institute resources.