By Guest Contributor which may be Woody Allen
You know, I always thought the greatest advantage of New York was that you could be neurotic there and nobody would notice. In other cities they send you to a psychiatrist if you talk to yourself. In Manhattan, they offer you a magazine column for it.
Yesterday I went to buy salmon. By the way, that’s probably the only stable Jewish tradition that survived Babylon, Rome, and my relationships with women.
I was walking through the streets of Brooklyn thinking about death. Not because I’m a philosopher — but because I’m already over ninety, even though originally I planned to stop at seventy.
The High-Energy Revolution Outside the Synagogue
And suddenly — a crowd outside a synagogue. At first I thought a famous psychoanalyst was appearing there. In New York, people are capable of standing in line for hours just to hear why their mother is to blame for everything. Though honestly, Jews already know that without lectures.
But no. They were shouting something about an "Intifada." And you know what amazed me most? How much energy these people have. Where do they get it from? I want to write my will after climbing two flights of stairs, and they’re already ready for a revolution before they’ve even had a proper coffee.
Someone there shouted something about "decolonization." Good Lord. When I was young, "colonization" meant Aunt Frieda taking over our sofa for three months and refusing to leave. Today suddenly it’s a Zionist conspiracy.
The Ivy League Pogrom: Hating Us with a Degree
In general, modern antisemitism has become much more intellectual. Once upon a time people simply hated us. Directly. Today they don’t.
Today some guy in a scarf, who looks like he writes poems about his own beard, explains to you with the help of Heidegger and Nietzsche why the very existence of Jews is a form of violence and a threat to humanity.
And I stood there thinking: at least in the past, the people beating us up didn’t have academic degrees. Today the pogromists arrive with diplomas from Columbia University.
Then one girl beside me said: "We’re against Zionism, not against Jews." That’s like my ex-wife saying: "I have nothing against you. I’m just against everything you say, do, feel — and especially against sleeping with you." The meaning remains the same.
Then someone shouted: "Zionists are Nazis!" At that moment I felt my grandmother spinning in her grave so fast she could have supplied electricity to half of Queens.
By the way, my grandmother knew real Nazis. She hid in a basement in Poland with a man who coughed so loudly the Germans could have found them just from the sound of his bronchial tubes. And today some kid from an elite college, whose greatest trauma in life was getting cold coffee at Starbucks, explains fascism to me.
Truly, I live in astonishing times.
Swallowing the University Library
Today everyone talks as if they accidentally swallowed a university library. Nobody says anymore: "Sorry, I’m an idiot." No. Today they say: "I’m deconstructing the hegemonic narrative."
Listen, I grew up among Jews. We don’t deconstruct narratives. We create narratives.
I came home and turned on the television — because if you have anxiety, watching television sounds like a brilliant idea. It’s roughly like treating alcoholism with a martini on the rocks.
And there was Roger Waters explaining the world again. Rock musicians always frighten me when they grow older and start talking like paranoids who smell a conspiracy every time they see a black cat.
Then Kanye West appeared. You know, in my childhood crazy people at least looked crazy. Wild hair, old coat, pigeons, conversations with trash cans. This guy just puts on a black mask and says he loves Hitler. And then I realized: humanity has come a long way — from "Never Again" to "Let’s discuss the nuances."
"Complicated" vs. Reality
And the politicians? The politicians say: "The situation is complicated."
No.
Complicated is explaining to a Jewish mother why you’re still unmarried at forty.
But when a crowd shouts "Death to Zionists" outside a synagogue — that’s not complexity. That’s a remake. And a worse one. No original script, but an enormous social-media budget.
And you know what really frightens me? Not the extremists. I’m used to extremists. I lived in New York in the seventies. Back then, you were already considered radical if you didn’t trust tap water and washed fruit with soap.
What frightens me is the speed with which ordinary people begin pretending that nothing unusual is happening. Human beings are creatures who adapt to everything. Even to a Jewish girl being pulled by the hair or a sidelocked boy being blinded with a strobe light.
We can get used to everything. War. Hatred. Coffee costing nine dollars. That last one, by the way, is especially difficult.
Madness Opens a TikTok Account
That night I lay in bed thinking: maybe humanity simply shouldn’t be given free time. Because the moment people get bored, they either start trying to save the world, or kill each other, or record podcasts about the health benefits of war.
And yet… if tomorrow someone marches outside a synagogue shouting about death to Zionists — I’ll go outside. Not because I’m brave. I’m the person who once fainted during a blood test.
But because Jews too many times hoped that madness would disappear on its own. It never disappears. It just puts on a suit, goes to university, and opens a TikTok account.
But first… I’ll eat my salmon. I don’t want to die on an empty stomach. My Jewish mother would never have approved of such a thing.
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