
Many Jews are familiar with this photo, taken by Rachel Posner in Berlin in 1932. It tends to circulate a lot during Hanukkah, especially during dark times, when it is often posted with an air of defiance. Indeed, that is what Posner, wife of the town Rabbi, who dreamt of being a journalist, no doubt intended when she wrote the following on the back of the photo:
“Hanukkah 5892.
‘Death to Judah,’ so the flag says.
‘Judah will live forever,’ so the light says.” (Translated from German).
I’ve been thinking about this photo a lot in the lead-up to today’s inauguration (which, maddeningly, is happening on a day in which we are supposed to remember the anti-racism and civil rights work of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr). It perfectly represents how I feel about four (or more?) years of 47 and all the damage his administration is going to do. I hate him, his party, and everything they stand for. Like Posner’s image does, I want to send a big middle finger to everyone involved.
However…
The other thing about this photo that makes it stick with me so much is the knowledge I have about Nazis and Jews that Posner didn’t have in 1932. The Nazi party — with the support of many German citizens — would go on to murder about 66% of German Jews by the end of the war. In neighboring Poland, where my current book project is set, a whopping 90% of Jews — about three million — were killed. There is no way that Posner would have been able to imagine this kind of violence and destruction, but, of course, I can’t help but think of it when I see her photo.
All of that is to say that in addition to (perhaps even superseding?) her defiance, this image elicits intense feelings of doom — the same kind of feelings that I have toward Trump 2.0. While I'm not here to make trite comparisons between 47 and Der Führer, the pit in my stomach I feel today is the same one I feel when I look at this photo. Like many Americans, I have so much fear of what’s to come, especially since I live in a state that is dedicated to eviscerating public education, LGBTQ+ rights (especially in minors), and in promoting dangerous measures re: women’s health issues. However, like the Posner family, who were able to escape Germany in 1933, I also know that I am part of a socio-racial-economic group that will not bear the worst of 47’s legislation. I can’t imagine how individuals in these communities are feeling today.
I wish I could channel Posner’s bravado — her confidence that she and her people would prevail over evil — but, well, that’s just not in the cards for today. Perhaps, in small part, because I've been thinking of this photo so much.
Still, I don’t think it’s too melodramatic to say that today is simply a dark day in American history.
However, like Posner's commentary also points out, defeatism will not accomplish anything. Author and social commentator Frederick Joseph released an essay on his Substack today that is so wise, beautiful, and poignant that it pulled me out of the doom, at least a little bit. Reflecting on what he, a Black man, learned while on a scenic train ride through the heart of Trumpland, he writes:
“What does it mean to love a country that does not love you back? It means loving anyway. Not the borders, not the systems, not the sin. But the people. The moments. The fleeting spaces where connection takes root despite everything. It means loving enough to tell the truth, to demand better, to refuse despair even when it feels like the only reasonable choice. It means fighting, not because victory is guaranteed, but because defeat without resistance is unthinkable.”
The situation that provided this clarity is a fascinating one, told beautifully by Joseph -- and worth reading in full -- but even the few lines I've quoted here express get at something that has the power to transcend the levels of fear and doom I'm feeling today. (Though, to be fair, I think, that today — with all the pomp, ceremony, and speeches — wallowing is a little natural). What Joseph’s essay and Posner’s photo remind me is that there is also MORE. The doom and despair don’t have to be the end, even if they sometimes feel insurmountable. If a Black man in Trump’s America and a Jewish woman in 1932 Germany can feel that, then it’s the least I can do to try, as well.
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