Imagining the flames

The typical small Jewish communities of northern Europe find themselves in a dilemma. Despite their identification with Israel, and their belief that it has a right to protect its citizens from life-endangering bombardment, many European Jews feel unable to justify the bombing of Gazan schools and densely populated urban areas on the basis of self-defense. The innocence of children is universal, and we share responsibility for the children of the world with all the rest of humanity.

The solidarity marches with Israel that we are witnessing around Europe and North America are understandable, as Israel again finds itself isolated and misrepresented, even despised. But some of the arguments being made in the face of the bloodshed and carnage are often weak.

At the same time, the Jewish communities in my town and elsewhere in the European Diaspora have become vulnerable targets of anti-Israel demonstrations, which are becoming increasingly violent and aggressive. The intensity of the hatred of Israel - and of the very presence of a Jewish state in the Middle East - will continue to affect the Jewish communities of Europe long after Israel has again withdrawn its troops from Gaza.

Local chapters of Hamas sympathizers are gaining supporters in Scandinavia every day. Well-known liberal and modernist Muslims are suddenly identifying themselves as radicals. Mohamed Omar, a poet and intellectual who had previously spoken out against fundamentalist cells in Sweden, recently proclaimed that he now backs Hamas, Hezbollah and Iran - precisely the fundamentalist movements he once distanced himself from, calling them the enemies of modernism.

As the demonstrators who convene close to our local synagogue each Saturday afternoon prepare to begin their march through the city center, we warn our members and visitors to stay away from the route they will take. We say this to people who came to Sweden as Holocaust survivors, or as refugees from Hungary in 1956 and Poland in 1968 and from the Soviet Union in the 1980s. For them, the hostility and worse is a repetition of what they experienced earlier in life - isolation and dehumanization of them as Jews, the branding of Jews as bad people, undeserving of human sympathy.

Then there is the group that thinks Sweden is the wrong place for a Jew to be, especially at a time like this. They feel their place is in Israel, volunteering with Magen David Adom in Sderot or simply being at the side of family members there, whom they may feel they have to some extent abandoned. They are pushing for the Jewish community to take a clearer stand in support of Israel, seemingly insensitive to the dilemma between loyalty to Israel and the moral instinct that is awakened in anyone as they see images of dying children being rushed to a hospital.

And then there is a third group that joins us in that same community room as we gather for Kiddush after Sabbath morning services. For them, Sweden is a country where the police will protect us, where violent protests and shouting in the streets by anti-Israel protesters will not be met with sympathy or understanding by fellow Swedes, whom they have lived among for generations.

The concern of these Swedish Jews is that the community should remain loyal to Israel, but at the same that it try to stay away from vocal and public support of it, which is not in our interest. For some, those in this group are no more than cowards. According to their critics, their position amounts to an unwillingness to question the simplified and one-sided version of human rights embraced by the political establishment.

Despite its small size - we are fewer than 20,000 - the contemporary Jewish community in Sweden is a mosaic of people from many different countries and backgrounds. It is not easy to arrive at a consensus regarding how we should present ourselves vis-a-vis the Swedish public and government.

At the same time as we ourselves try to figure out our own positions, we are also aware of the need to choose a path that will not invite hostility and violence from groups that don't share the traditional non-violent political culture of Sweden. Free speech may be on our side, but it does not stop the harm done to our sense of security and safety as Swedish Jews, should it inspire violent crime directed at our minority.

As we contemplate the image of our synagogues burning, something that almost happened in a small town in south Sweden last weekend, the future itself seems to be going up in flames. We look at our children and wonder if they will continue to be able to see this as their home, something we have taken for granted. Seeking a refuge, we may find ourselves turning toward Israel, but would nonetheless consider it a defeat to have to leave the country we have been part of now for generations.

There are those who cannot sleep at night in fear of a repetition of the Holocaust, and those who stand guard outside the community buildings at night, for fear of arsonists. The Jewish community is under pressure from within and from the outside.

Anders Carlberg is president of the Jewish Community of Gothenburg, Sweden.