Antisemitism in Islamist Culture: Prejudice and My Identity (article)

During my sessions with a young adult Turkish Muslim analysand, I identified a latent antisemitic disposition. Her modern demeanor initially obscured her radical religious leanings. Over time, I unearthed her denial of my Turkish Jewish heritage. She conjectured that I was a Muslim woman married to a Jewish man, using this as a rationale for my Jewish surname and fluency in Turkish. She adamantly believed that I had acquired my command of Turkish later in life, which indirectly negated the historical Jewish presence in Turkey spanning 2400 years. (Jewish communities have thrived in Anatolia since at least the fifth century BCE. The Ottoman Empire welcomed many Jews fleeing the Spanish Inquisition in the late 15^th century. I was born and raised in Turkey, a descendant of these Jewish families who have escaped from Spain and Portugal and the pogroms in the Russian empire.)

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My patient was very anxious to find out about her inner world. However, she mostly dismissed any transference interpretations, saying that she had no idea what I was talking about when I referred to our psychoanalytic relationship. When I tried to explore antisemitic material in her dreams, she accused me of having a problem with being a Jew. She was uninterested in thinking about me at all, let alone my Jewishness.

Antisemitism, deeply ingrained in human society, can manifest in anyone, consciously or subconsciously. Distortion is a tactic that can foster prejudiced mindsets. The opponent’s perspective is contorted, isolated, mocked, and refuted. She frequently expressed her detestation of Israel, equating its existence with racism and fervently associating it with “settler colonialism.” She denied the Holocaust and constructed a narrative where the persecuted were portrayed as perpetrators. She clung to a widely held misbelief in Turkey that a Jewish conspiracy orchestrates global events. Amid the upsurge in radical views, Jews were constructed as privileged White, and any concern about antisemitism was considered a White and, therefore, potentially racist concern during Labour Party Leader Jeremy Corbyn’s prominence. For many, antisemitism became a form of identity in the UK.

To understand prejudices like antisemitism, it’s crucial to appreciate the nuances between various biases like racism, sexism, homophobia, and childism. Every form of hatred stems from a unique personality structure and history. Discrimination, at its core, is an inability to accept differences, whether they are real or imagined.

Every individual inherits a socio-cultural backdrop rife with power dynamics. Our identities are shaped by internalizing these surroundings. Childhood experiences play a pivotal role in molding our beliefs, largely influenced by parental perspectives. In societies where prejudice is rampant, children often align with dominant views to avoid becoming targets themselves.

Antisemitism and the Jews of Turkey

Antisemitism often paints Jews as stealthy infiltrators conspiring for global domination. Throughout history, Jews have faced varying degrees of prejudice. In the 19^th century, they were associated with political power, morphing antisemitism into a tool for global control as illustrated by the fabricated Protocols of the Elders of Zion.

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For the Islamists, the Jew of Turkey is a Turkified Jew, living proof of the Muslims’ tolerance to non-Muslims and at the service of the Turkish state in international affairs. Since he is a Turk of the Mosaic faith, he is not considered to belong to the dark evil, the “international Zionist brotherhood.” Consequently, Islamists believe that the accusations directed against international Zionism and international Jewry are not aimed at Turkey’s Jews. The Islamists assume that Turkey’s Jews cannot have any political attitude and cannot be defenders of secularism, i.e., Kemalism. This is a modernization philosophy that guided the transition from the multi-religious, multi-ethnic Ottoman Empire to Turkey’s secular, unitary Republic. Ataturk, the founder of Kemalism, implemented sweeping political, social, cultural, and religious reforms designed to separate the new Turkish state ideology from its Ottoman predecessor and embrace a modernized lifestyle, including establishing democracy, secularism, and state support of the sciences and free education. Kemalists think Turkish Jews cannot stand against Islam.

Sartre drew parallels between antisemitism and racism, identifying Jews as “the Other,” in Anti-Semite and Jew: An Exploration of the Etiology of Hate (1944). In contrast to Sartre’s pure scapegoat theory that exacerbated the problem of antisemitism instead of offering solutions, Fenichel proposed a historical and social idea in his 1940 article, “Psychoanalysis of antisemitism” (published in American Imago, 18[2]: 24-39). He considered antisemitism as a diversion tactic by European elites to shift working-class discontent away from themselves. Even today, antisemitism remains a potent force wielded for political and social manipulation.

Prejudices and My Identity

I am Turkish, a secular Jew, an Israeli, and British. I care profoundly about Israel but also harbor deep nationalistic feelings for my home country, Turkey. I spent most of my life (30 years) there, where antisemitism grew prominent under strengthening Islamist governments. I frequently visited Israel, a country that increasingly discriminated against Muslims, throughout my life, though I only lived there for six years. My position is paradoxical. Living in London for the past 20 years and undergoing more than 15 years of child, adolescent, and adult analytic training has enabled me to maintain an equal distance from both facets of my identity. In addition to my overt pro-Muslim identification, I faced a robust implicit pressure to assimilate and be as European as possi-

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ble. Given the challenges of living peacefully as a protected minority within the Turkish diaspora, my pro-Turkish and pro-Muslim sentiments coexist with underlying anti-Turkish and anti-Muslim sentiments.

Addressing my countertransference required confronting what I had repressed: my internalized self-hate. It represents an identification stemming from shame, a type of ego denial. As a Jew growing up in Turkey, I was counseled to conceal my Jewish identity for safety rather than to connect with others. My family lost all their assets during the Wealth Tax legislation on November 11, 1942. While Jews were being exterminated in Europe, Turkey imposed excessive, random taxes on its minorities. This was followed by the Istanbul riots initiated by mobs against Turkey’s non-Muslims on September 6-7, 1955. The subsequent transfer of wealth and economic activity from the minorities to the Turkish majority essentially nationalized their economy. This period significantly propelled the emigration of ethnic minorities from Turkey.

When I was two years old, my parents moved to Israel, like many young families of the time. However, after their divorce, I found myself back in Istanbul. As a teenager, my grandmother introduced me to the Holocaust. I was taken aback since no one else mentioned it. These topics were absent from the school curriculum and remain so to this day. Later, during the Turkish Civil War of the 1980s, I was sent to an Israeli boarding school for two years. There, the Holocaust was a recognized event, and Israel was heralded as the sole Jewish state—a beacon of hope following immense tragedy.

Contrary to the Kemalist Turkey I knew where everyone primarily identified as a Turk with the freedom to choose their secondary religious or ethnic identity, Israel accentuated differences. I was labeled “a Jew from Turkey,” much like my peers, who were Jews from diverse global regions. Teenage life varied starkly between the two nations, leaving me feeling displaced. I longed for the structured life and school environment I knew in Turkey. After two years, I went back to Istanbul to finish high school and secured a spot at Bogazici University, Turkey’s foremost institution at that time to study psychology. I experienced a profound sense of belonging to Turkey and its culture, feeling valued and seldom encountering antisemitism. Like many minorities there, I navigated dual realities, which hindered my personal development. This duality compelled me to construct what Winnicott termed a “false self”

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in response to both being targeted and being intellectually esteemed. My extensive analysis and continuous self-reflection are part of my journey to embrace my “real self,” and this paper is a testament to that endeavor.

It’s no coincidence that, in line with the synergy between Jewish values and my identity, I was drawn to Freudian psychoanalysis early on. I admired Freud’s rationalist outlook and his inclination to debunk myths. My academic pursuit of Freudian concepts led me to investigate the psychological impact of circumcision on Muslim Turkish boys, empirically testing the notion of castration anxiety (Levi, 2022). This research formed part of my PhD at Exeter University. In 2000, I relocated to London, embarking on my child psychotherapy training, followed by adult psychoanalytic training.

Possessing a conflicted identity likely equipped me to explore Freudian psychoanalysis from distinct angles: British Empiricism versus British Object Relations, with Ego psychology bridging the gap. To my surprise, both environments were adversarial toward Freudian principles. My PhD research was demoted to an MPhil due to its significant support for Freudian theory. An external examiner bluntly informed me that Exeter University, a renowned scientific institution, had recently ceased teaching Freud, deeming it “unscientific.” Thus, they wouldn’t award a PhD to a project that backed Freudian thought. However, had my research disproved Freudian theories, it would have been welcomed.

I suspect that the untimely demise of my supervisor, Professor Paul Kline, from acute leukemia might have rendered me vulnerable to unfair treatment. It was alarming to realize that research at such a prestigious academic institution was far from impartial. They likely perceived me, a Turkish Jew unfamiliar with the UK system, as an easy target. Despite paying substantial non-EU tuition fees, the committee nonchalantly castrated my academic ambitions by denying me a PhD. This seems reminiscent of the historical treatment of Jews in a European antisemitic context. Instead of acting as a reparative authority and prioritizing science over biases, the Exeter University panel chose to deride and negate my empirical endeavors to validate the Freudian theory. This hostility tainted their responsibilities, precluding a harmonious resolution and leaving me to bear the brunt.

I do hope that this paper will inspire readers to fight preju-

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dice by appreciating the true value of pluralism.

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