Curating Courage

The fight for Jewish creative freedom in an increasingly antisemitic art world

(Top) Antisemitic graffiti was sprayed all over the mural during Labor Day weekend. (Bottom) Anat Ronen cleaned it up and enhanced her artwork the next day.

In late August, Brooklyn-based powerHouse Books canceled an event for author and activist Joshua Leifer. Leifer’s book “Tablets Shattered” analyzes the cultural tensions in the American Jewish community surrounding the opposing ideologies of Zionism and anti-Zionism. 

Leifer is an anti-Zionist Jew, a regular contributor to the Iranian regime-friendly magazine Jewish Currents, and a supporter of the Boycott, Divest, and Sanctions campaign against Israel (BDS). In the book, Leifer showers praise on two fringe anti-Zionist groups: Jewish Voice for Peace (JVP), and IfNotNow, hailing them as the future of the Western Jewish left.  

Why did powerHouse abruptly rescind Leifer’s invitation to speak on its premises, particularly given Leifer’s history of being a vocal critic of Israel and Zionism? 

The moderator of the Leifer “Tablets Shattered” book talk was progressive rabbi Andy Bachman. Bachman believes Israel has a right to exist. Bachman’s stance on Jewish self-determination was enough to embolden an employee at the store to cancel the talk an hour before the launch because they were unwilling to platform a Zionist voice on-premises.

Leifer was surprised at the news. In a post on X, Leifer says:

“I wrote this book to explore debates within American Jewish life, which of course includes many people who identify as Zionists. My biggest worry was about synagogues not wanting to host me. I didn’t think it would be bookstores in Brooklyn that would be closing their doors.”

I have been told for the last ten years by artists, curators, friends, and colleagues that anti-Zionism is not antisemitism. And for a very small number of case studies, they are correct. For instance, if you are an anarchist or a universal antinationalist, and therefore believe no nations have a right to exist, which further entails an apathy for all country borders and nation states including the state of Israel, then you are a non-antisemitic anti-Zionist. 

Unfortunately, in my own experience of dealing with anti-Zionism in the art world, where many people self-identify with anarchism, socialism, or a mixture of the two, it’s normally the Jewish state that is singled out as the one nation that doesn’t have a right to be recognized.

No one seems to question why Pakistan, a Muslim country formed in 1947, exists or demands the erasure of the Muslim Arab majority state of Jordan, Israel's neighbor which was created the same year as the Jewish state in 1948. Liberia, an African nation, even mirrors certain storylines in the creation of Israel; it was an American project to resettle African American slaves in their “homeland.” And, to this day, there is ethnic tension between the descendants of slaves and the tribal Western African populations that were on the land prior to the country’s founding. Sound familiar?  

When my peers start questioning the legitimacy of the nations of Pakistan, Liberia, or Jordan—three countries with similar backstories and struggles to Israel, I will feel more comfortable with their claims that anti-Zionism is not just Jew-hate rebranded. However, this is a particular argument that seems to be lost on my antisemitic former art connections, who were initially pleased when it appeared that I was in agreement with their geo-political stances—when in reality, we were worlds apart in terms of ideology, ethics, and morality. 

Being anti-Zionist is the fashionable and politically correct opinion to hold in almost all creative communities in the West at the moment. And, as I have watched grassroots arts communities fall in line with the orthodoxies of our times (such as Critical Race Theory, totalitarian speech codes, and a Euro-centric historical worldview) it's not surprising that all roads lead to hatred of the Jew. We are, after all, “Schrodinger’s Race,” where the question of Jews and our proximity to whiteness depends on if you ascribe to right-wing or left-wing flavors of Jew-hatred. Jews are no longer seen as rootless cosmopolitans who subvert the autonomy of European nations, but as white colonial oppressors butchering the indigenous Levantine population on stolen land. 

Prior to October 7th, I had sporadic instances that became more frequent run-ins with anti-Zionism masked as antisemitism in art—which is to say all the signs of what was to come were there. I just ignored them at my own peril or was told by fellow artists that my concerns were misplaced. Jews are used to being told that our experiences with antisemitism, particularly if they come from a community that brands itself as inclusive, tolerant, and “anti-racist” like the art world, are figments of our imaginations.

At an event called The Drawnk, a weekly drink and draw event in Seattle that I used to attend, there was one fellow artist who used to taunt me because of my Jewishness. On occasion, he would lean in close, lock eyes with me, and whisper something about “The Jew York Times” or make baseless generalizations about Jews and Israel—a country I have no known family in, nor have ever visited. 

With a knowing glance, as if all Jews are in consensus about the Jewish state and its government, he would snarl “I know all Jews feel this way about Israel.” It’s odd to me that most antisemites think Jews are some sort of hive mind—have they ever heard us argue before? Two Jews three opinions is apparently not a saying that makes its way into non-Jewish circles that often. 

I faced frequent assumptions about my apparent wealth and privilege based solely on my ethnic background. Appropriation of the Holocaust in art was also common (and still is).

I gaslit myself for years into thinking that most of the Jew hate I experienced in art circles was in my head, an anxious fever dream that I concocted as a result of my intense social anxiety, and the pressure that comes with trying to make it in a cutthroat profession. However, after October 7th, 2023, it felt as if the floodgates had opened. Admired artists and friends now boldly stood on the side of bigotry.

“Are you being triggered by the libs?” was the first response I got from a friend who runs an art gallery several weeks after the seventh of October. His sarcastic and dismissive response to my new reality of experiencing blatant antisemitism online and in the real world several weeks after the largest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust was jarring. 

“It’s partisan!” a former friend and Buffalo art curator hissed when I cried on the phone in early November expressing my horror and trauma around the video content I had consumed from the Nova Music Festival the morning of the massacre. I was told the sexual atrocities I had seen on video were fabrications, and my severe reactions to watching Jews being viciously slaughtered and brutalized were wrong. “When you're ready,” he said, “Maybe consider joining Jews for Palestine.” 

“It’s war,” said another after I sent him an article on the pregnant woman who had her baby cut out of her stomach at Kibbutz Be’eri. Initially, he told me it was “fake news.” I felt compelled to correct him—he was a person who I had respected as a comic artist and cartoonist up until that point. In these moments, I felt a hollow sadness and spiritual loneliness that are hard to put into words.

While writing about my personal experiences with antisemitism in the arts is hard, I now know that it is also not unique. There are more and more stories of Jews in the visual arts, literature, music, theater, and other creative professions experiencing hostility from their coworkers, audiences, bosses, and former friends. All because of the crime of just being a Jew. And yes, as Leifer’s case demonstrates, even anti-Zionist Jews aren't immune from this hatred. 

There have been lists made of Zionist writers to boycott, attacks on Jewish-owned art galleries, and open letters to Pen America and in Art Forum accusing Israelis (and by extension, Zionists) of genocidal cruelty against the Palestinian people with no mention of Hamas, the hostages, or the rape, mutilation, or murder of Israeli women and men and children on the 7th of October. 

In London, there have been Free Palestine protests outside of performances of Fiddler on the Roof, a play with obvious Zionist undertones, as it takes place in the isolated and impoverished shtetls of pre-Revolutionary Russia. In Australia, a New York Times Journalist, Natasha Frost, has been named as the source of the leak of the Z600 doxxing list; a CSV file shared widely on social media of the names, professions, locations, and contact information of 600 Jewish creative Australians in a WhatsApp group chat.

In America, a Marvel movie has become the center of a controversial debate surrounding the Jewishness of the comic book and film industry. Captain America: Brave New World which has a 2025 release date, had the audacity to showcase an Israeli actress in a historically Jewish comic book role, upsetting pro-Palestinian fans who have campaigned to have Israeli actress Shira Haas fired and the character of Sabra removed from the upcoming Marvel-comic movie adaptation. 

Comics have, since inception, been a Jewish art form with overtly and covertly Jewish-coded characters. Sabra, the superhuman Mossad agent and ally of Captain America is an obvious example; Superman, America’s first superhero, is the most covert.

Hiding the Jewishness of a comic book character designed to exemplify Jewish heroism and pride in a film created in a town built on the backs of Jewish artistic innovation is all the more disheartening. 

Marvel and Disney announced earlier this year that Sabra will be “Russian” instead of “Israeli” due to the outrage of their audience. The two companies have since backtracked on this statement but the damage has been done—the fear of being visibly Jewish in the arts has been confirmed to be more than just a paranoid delusion.

In May, a few blocks away from my old Seattle apartment, employees at the Wing Luke Museum staged a walkout over an exhibit called “Confronting Hate Together.” The show was supposed to showcase the historical ties between the Seattle Asian American, African American, and Jewish American communities and how they formed strong relationships in the ugly face of racial and economic segregation. 

The 26 undersigned employees of the Wing Luke walkout opposed platforming “Zionist ideology,” as one of the examples of modern-day antisemitism in the show documented vandalism of a Mercer-Island synagogue with anti-Israel and pro-Hamas graffiti. So now, over three months out from when the exhibit was expected to debut, Seattle Jews must confront hate alone. 

And not to be outdone by the Pacific Northwest, a controversy erupted in my hometown of Buffalo, New York in June. Locust Street Art is a well-known art education and community center and non-profit. Morgan Arnett, a working artist and employee, denied their services to a Jewish day school, accusing the school of supporting genocide. 

Arnett was fired by the non-profit. However, since their termination, Arnett has penned a rebuttal letter in the Buffalo News. Arnett explained that their issues are not with the wider Buffalo Jewish Community–just the Jewish Federation of Buffalo and its ties to the war in Gaza. 

So what can we do, us beleaguered and creative Jews? It’s time to fight back with pens, paper, pianos, pavement, and sheer artistic persistence. 

As I write this I know that to some extent I’m being a hypocrite, as my drive to make things has atrophied since October 7th. Drawing is now a slog and finishing a piece of artwork feels like a brutal exercise in creative frustration. However, I also know that not creating and giving up on my artistic goals is capitulating to antisemitism. So I continue to begrudgingly pick up the pencil and make a few marks on the paper. I encourage anyone who is demoralized in our current cultural climate—Jew or non-Jew—to do the same. 

To make art right now is to be courageous. We must remember that while careers come and go, as do notoriety, accolades, and awards, individual creativity cannot be commodified. It is intangible. And while not always profitable, it’s yours and yours alone. 

Over the past year, I have witnessed a great rebirth in Jewish creativity and artistic resilience. Musicians like Regina Spektor and Matisyahu are defying the art world bigots by continuing to tour and make music even when venues unexpectedly cancel their shows or protesters harass their audiences. Groups like “Artists against Antisemitism” have formed as an emotional support and creative advocacy platform for Jewish artists who have become isolated from legacy art establishment organizations. 

I believe we are living through a Jewish Artistic Renaissance blossoming underground, and I am anticipating that great art will be created from the bitter seeds of antisemitic social ostracization. Jews have historically created our own spaces and groups when the wider world has refused to accept us—like the comic book and film industries.

I have accepted that I may never have the art career I want due to speaking out against antisemitism, and I have received angry social media messages and lost friendships over my stances. Speaking up does come with an unfortunate social cost—this is why doing the right thing is usually at odds with taking the easy art-career-saving way out. But I am free and I do not live in fear. I make my art unapologetically, knowing that my voice is honest and uncorrupted. 

Freedom is a verb. Courage is a muscle. To become a brave person is to exercise your courage and curate your own freedom. Making art in the face of animosity and hate is just one of many acts of spiritual humanistic dissent. So make great art that outlives you—and while cancellation may be imminent, if your creative voice is stronger than baseless hatred, eventually human ingenuity and beauty will find a way to eclipse the temporary and transient ugliness of human nature. This is why superhero comics will outlast us all. Jews value life. This is why the rallying cry of the Jewish people is “Am Yisrael Chai” or “The Jewish People Live.”

This is an essay for our new series, “Make Them Hear You: Stories from FAIR Artists.” Learn more about the series and contribute here.

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