Blacks and Jews in America: the Bittersweet Encounter : Race relations: Neither side ever saw the other clearly; both would profit from a thoughtful airing of misperceptions.

Frequent charges and countercharges of “black anti-Semitism” and “Jewish racism” have signaled a serious breakdown in what was long regarded as one of America’s oldest liberal coalitions. On college campuses and around city halls across the country, blacks and Jews, thought to be kindred spirits, are increasingly finding themselves at loggerheads. Some of the issues that divide them are related to differing perceptions of legitimate strategies for enhancing inclusion into the mainstream of society. Others seem far less rational.

Before addressing the significance of the current situation, it is important to review the relationship itself.

Despite their racial, religious and cultural differences, Jews and African-Americans have long felt a special affinity. They often regard themselves as fellow sufferers united in a struggle against the common foes of bigotry and discrimination. In Southern churches, blacks--generally ignorant of Jewish suffering in medieval or modern Europe--long identified with the time “when Israel was in Egypt’s land” and with the call to “let my people go.” In Northern cities, increasing numbers of Jewish immigrants, few of whom knew much about Africa or the African diaspora, came to relate the enslavement, segregation and ghettoization of America’s blacks to their own history.

The relationship was not only symbolic. Many Jewish philanthropists and other, less well-off Jews joined forces with black leaders in the earliest days of the civil-rights struggle. Jews were prominent among the founders of the National Assn. for the Advancement of Colored People, the NAACP Legal Defense and Education Fund and numerous related organizations. From the mid-1930s to the mid-1960s, representatives of both groups were crucial members of the powerful Democratic confederation. And throughout the civil-rights protests, Jews marched and some died alongside blacks in the dramatic campaign to overcome racial discrimination in America.

Martin Luther King Jr. said, “It would be impossible to record the contribution Jewish people have made toward the Negro’s struggle for freedom, it has been so great.” Yet for many African-Americans today, such words have a hollow ring. They say they are tired of hearing how much Jews have done for them--and some say things that are much worse.

The call for Black Power, a declaration of independence--even from liberal supporters--signaled a critical turning point. Whites, including many Jews in the civil-rights movement, were eased or pushed from positions of leadership and from the rank and file. Other events soon contributed to the estrangement: urban riots in predominantly black neighborhoods, some of which were still inhabited by Jewish old-timers; debates over mounting demands for community control of New York schools, many of whose teachers and principals were Jewish; diverging paths of support in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, with more and more blacks identifying themselves with those in the Third World; and disagreements over affirmative-action policies to ensure greater representation of those who came to be officially designated as “minorities.” (The specter of institutionalized quotas, however “benign” they were said to be, was particularly upsetting to those all too familiar with numerus clausus.)

While bewilderment and frustration were common responses of a number of Jews within the movement, others felt betrayed. Derogatory remarks made by Jesse Jackson, Louis Farrakhan and others exacerbated the situation. The old allies were rapidly becoming adversaries.

It was not entirely unexpected. Close observers have long noted that, for all the acclaimed interdependence of fate and activity, there has always been another side to the relationship, one that, for a variety of reasons, has often been more a symbiosis than an equal partnership. This has led to many differences of perception. As Julius Lester, an African-American convert to Judaism, once put it: “Jews consider themselves liberal, blacks consider them paternalistic.”

No matter how poor or bedraggled, the Jews who came to America were free, voluntary immigrants, not slaves. No matter how bad the conditions in the ethnic enclaves in which the vast majority settled between 1880 and 1920, Jews were better-off and had far more freedom to move up and out than rural blacks or their Harlem-bound kinfolk. No matter how high up the ladder of success blacks managed to climb, Jews seemed to have been ahead of them--and generally were, even in the academic, political and entertainment worlds, where interaction was the greatest.

It is reasonable to think that much of what some blacks are saying about some Jews today is, at least in part, an expression of a deeply rooted triple sense of powerlessness, envy and dependency, particularly by people whose encounters with Jewish landlords, shopkeepers, social workers, teachers and employers have always been highly complex. Models, mentors and benefactors for many, Jews also came to be seen as the close-at-hand embodiers of the wider oppressive system.

Of late, the true complexities of what some have called “the bittersweet encounter” are being papered over by slogan-laden rhetoric and political posturing. As the polarization increases, each side tends to accentuate the negative, underscoring differences and downplaying the still-common cause. Most critically, there seems to be a reluctance to take the necessary but difficult step of establishing frank and open dialogue about all aspects of the problem: critically reviewing the real history and the asymmetry of the relationship; closely examining the stereotyping and the scapegoating that abound on both sides and seriously discussing legitimate, if often contradictory, differences (on West Bank policies or affirmative action) in an atmosphere of mutual respect. Each must face the prospect that the more their misunderstandings persist, the more they will be exploited by those with who have little regard for either.

With bitter memories of persecution, Jews have long rallied to Hillel’s famous saying, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?” This same sentiment is well-known and often articulated in the black community these days. Sadly, too many members of both groups have forgotten that Hillel also asked, “If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?”