Respite and fight
The spaces we create and how vital they are to challenging hate
Last night I went to the most painful art exhibition I have ever been to. It was the opening event for the LCSCA conference on antisemitism and like organiser David Hirsh said, usually such academic spaces are not launched with art. But we are not in usual times.
Curator and artist Mina Kupfermann says she was moved to paint after the horror of October 7. It was an urgent need yet she had no expectation that the paintings would ever leave her studio. No hope that the art world would accept them. She wasn’t wrong. Jewish and Israeli artists have been pushed out and isolated. They have suffered threats, hate and discrimination. Israeli actress Gal Gadot has had to have enhanced security since October 7 due to the explosion in death threats against her. Jewish creatives have found themselves on boycott lists. The worst part is the slow squashing of self and identity as Israeli and Jewish artists censor and silence themselves in order to avoid blacklisting.
The fact that this exhibition happened at all is a miracle. One that occurred within a Jewish community centre. I have little faith that any other gallery would have exhibited it. Another artist Maya Amrami who showed her work was inspired to create it after experiencing severe antisemitism. The anger and frustration at what she went through is palpable.
The third artist was Benzi Brofman who painted victims of October 7 and kidnapped hostages. I know his work well because in December 2023 he created powerful portraits of my husband's cousin Tsachi Idan, alongside Omri Miran who was kidnapped with him from Nahal Oz kibbutz where they both lived. Tsachi and Omri’s wives, Gali and Lishay posed next to them. It was achingly painful an image. As soon as I entered the space, my eyes found it. Or maybe my heart. In that huge place, a familiar face. A smile amongst strangers. Like a private conspiracy, we said hello. Here he was in my home after me just being in his
Soon there were more familiar faces. Friends. Some I hadn’t seen since we had that terrible news and had been to Tsachi’s funeral and shiva. A month ago. A month. How can time move so fast and yet stay silently stuck. Friends, with love and empathy in their eyes and in their words. I get confused sometimes. We spent so long in anxiety and hope, it’s shocking to shift into grief. When they gave condolences I was surprised at why and then I remembered. Tsachi didn’t come back alive.
Oh yes.
It’s a struggle then to know what to say. It’s hard for them too. How can you navigate such horror in a crowded, noisy room with soft jazz and canapés? It’s the right place and the right people but felt entirely wrong. My daughter got overwhelmed at one point and we went to retreat into a darkened, quiet theatre. There, more intimate conversations felt possible. I met the incredible Rachel Moiselle, a gentle and humble warrior. She told me it was so beautifully refreshing to be amongst allies and to just be herself and relax. She hadn’t realised how much she needed it.
That ever constant tension that Jewish people experience and live with is real and does daily damage. Always being on guard, never sure when antisemitism will strike. That’s why events like this are so crucial. So unique. Jews and their allies have to create them themselves. It is not only to solve the practical problem of actually exhibiting the work, but fuelling the spirit to continue battles just to be. Building resilience and leaning inward.
And that must never be where it ends.
As my friend who came with us said, this must give us the strength and confidence to go back out into the non-Jewish world and bring our whole selves into those spaces. To demand respect and compassion. These powerful events like last night’s exhibition give us time to think, room to inspire and be inspired. To let everything flow without dodging hate. There is always going to exist that tricky balance between respite from the world and challenging it. Knowing when to regroup and when to engage. When to grieve, when to fight.
This is the challenge we face as a family and a community. When to sit in a darkened theatre, understanding that sadness has overwhelmed us and we need to just be surrounded by the quiet strength of friends. And when to get up and step into harsh lights and know exactly what to say and do about the hard things we face. I constantly seek the wisdom to recognise the time for each. The former feels fragile and rare and it was a wondrous thing to feel it last night.
One cannot be done without the other.
Let us have both.