Trial of the Jews:

The Lonely Jew Stands before The Nations of the World (Fiction Piece #8)

(Marc Chagall, The White Crucifixion, 1938)

Trial of The Jews:

The Lonely Jew Stands before The Nations of the World

“Justice, you wish to speak to me of justice?” The man in the witness stand said.

“You wish to speak to me of justice, you, the nations of the world? Tell me – what do you, my accusers, know of justice?”

“You,” he said, pointing at the European nations, “you who have colonized the world, who have put mothers and sons to the sword by the millions and called it progress, tell me, tell me, what do you know of justice?”

“Was it for justice that you raised the cross over the Americas? Was it for righteousness that you rustled black men and women away from their homes, like so many cattle, to work on your plantations? Was that, was that what you call, justice?”

“If that is what you call justice, then yes, I have not been just.”

“I have not carried away innocents and made them slaves. If that is justice, then yes, I want nothing to do with it.”

“And you,” he said, pointing at the Arab nations of the world, “tell me, was it for justice that you rode out of Arabia, carrying the sword and the sickle, demanding the innocent of the world bow before your G-d or face the fires of your rage? Was that, was that what you call justice?”

“If that is what you call justice, then no, I have not been just.

“I have crossed the earth, ten thousand times over, building tents of worship everywhere I have gone. But never, never have I raised a sword to those who did not worship the same as me.”

“If killing those who pray differently than you is justice, then no, I have not been just, and I want no part in it.”

The man on the witness stand stayed cooly resolved.

The eyes of the nations of the world were upon him, but he was resolved.

“You, the nations of the world, who accuse me of injustice, who accuse me of cruelty, who accuse me of crimes against humanity — tell me, by what standard can you accuse me?”

The courtroom of the world stood silent, as if in suspended animation.

“By the standards of your endless justice? By the standards of your national kindness? By the standards of your ancient humanitarianism?”

Javier sat calmly and smiled. He looked heavenward for a moment, then returned his gaze to his accusers.

“The nations who accuse me are guilty of the very crimes they lay at my feet, yet they,” Javier said, pausing, then extending an accusatory finger, “You,” he said, as much with his finger as his voice, “You have the audacity to stand in judgement and speak to me of justice. HA!”

The sound of his staccato’d laugh punctuated the air.

“I tell you, on behalf of all my ancestors, on behalf of all of the Jewish men and women who have tasted of this thing that you call justice — I tell you… I remember.”

The room was silent. Javier was a fire, his words were his light, and the nations of the world hid like hungry jackals just beyond the shadow of his light.

“I remember your pogroms,” Javier said, “I remember your crusades; I remember your Jizhya and your Khaybar knives and the joyous songs you sang when you burned my temples. I remember. I remember it all, all of these things which you call justice.”

“And now, now you have the audacity to stand here and put me on trial?”

“Tell me, how many Jews have died for you to pursue this justice? How many genocides have you perpetrated against my people? How many synagogues and schools have you burned?”

“You, the self-proclaimed arbiters of global justice?”

“I remember. I remember what you did in the name of your sense of justice.”

The nations of the world grew nervous. There was the low rustling sound of bodies squirming in chairs, of feet bobbing and up and down anxiously – the sound of teeth biting finger nails.

“Two hundred nations stand against me. Two hundred nations stand against me and wish to speak to me of justice. Two hundred. Two hundred nations who have nothing in common with one another save their ubiquitous contempt for me.”

“Tell me, which of you could defend yourself from these accusations you lay at my feet?”

“Tell me, which of you is innocent?”

“Which of you stood up for my people when the Nazis carted us off to the gas chambers? Which of you stood up when the sons of Ishmael came with their Khaybars to finish the work their nazi brothers started? Who among you can answer? Which of you can claim innocence?”

“Enough!” Cried the French minister.

“It is as you say – our nations, our ancestors, our history – we were not so righteous in the past.”

“But,” said the French minister, “is that not reason enough for us to stand for justice now? For us to right the wrongs of our past with our actions in the present?”

The room with roaring laughter from the witness stand. Javier, who had been so poised till now, was, of all things, laughing.”

“This?” Javier said, incredulously, “this is your defense?”

“For one thousand years, your people have oppressed mine. Even today, Jews are fleeing from your country in droves. Your cities are emptying themselves of the few Jews who remained. And you expect me to believe that your thousand years of Jew-hatred have, suddenly, ended?”

“You called it justice when you threw Alfred Dreyfus in prison, did you not? When the Nazis loaded up your Jewish countrymen on cattle cars, you turned a blind eye, did you not? Where was your sense of justice then? And now, now that innocent Jews are once again held hostage, now you call it justice to blame us for trying to save them?”

The French minister opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“If I did not know any better, I would say that your nation seems to have a particular fondness for Jews in captivity.”

“So no, according to your standards, I have not been just.”

“I have studied your nations, I have lived among your people, and I have learned what it is that you call justice. And, let me tell you…”

Javier let the room hold its breath for a few moments. The French minister was quietly seething beneath his embarrassment, seething and plotting. The tension was thick, but Javier was unmoved.

“If I had been just the way you nations are just, I would have taken a pound of your flesh for every pound you have taken of mine.

“I would have burned one of your churches for each of my synagogues you burned.”

“I would have taught you to remember the names of my knives the way you taught me to remember yours.”

“Then, if I had done all of those things I learned from your schools of justice, then, maybe then, you would not so brazenly accuse me of cruelty. Maybe then you would respect me as you respect each other. It seems that the only way to earn your respect is to exact justice the way that you do. Maybe if I did that, maybe if I put my enemies to the sword with the same ruthless cruelty you have, then, maybe then, you would treat me the same way you treat each other.”

“But I don’t practice this kind of justice.”

“I don’t conquer lands to convert their people and cart off away their children. I don’t put infidels to the sword. I don’t turn my eyes away when my brother nations send old women and children to the gas chambers and the killing fields.”

“For this is not justice, at least, this is no justice that I have ever known.”

“If this is what you call justice, then I want no part in it.”

Javier’s resolve was as stern as steel.

“But if, as seems to be the case, you, the nations of the world, believe that I am so unjust, so uniquely guilty of injustice — then, perhaps, I should.”

“Perhaps I should practice the same kind of justice upon you that you have practiced upon me.”

“Perhaps I should meet every insult with injury. Perhaps I should use my strength for the subjugation of others and not the liberation of my own. Perhaps, perhaps I should behave like you.”

A lightning bolt of nervousness shot through the nations of the world.

“The Jews are the conscience of the world — that’s what Hitler said. Yet you, the nations of the world, you have no conscience. You have no moral compass. You have no sense of justice other than justifying your insatiable greed.”

“And yet you have the gall to speak to me of justice.”

“When I lived amongst you, in your ghettos and your camps, you spat on me and laughed at my weakness.”

“And now, now that you have kicked me out, now that I live alone, now you cry out against my strength. You spat when I was weak, and you scream when I am strong.”

“And so, I must ask, why? Why do you care so much about me, a tiny little nation living on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean, and the western bank of eternity? Why do I mean so much to you?”

“Is it because you think that I am so unjust? Or is it that I refuse to believe in the farce that you call justice?”

From the witness stand, Javier could feel 8 billion pairs of eyes glaring down upon him. In another time, in another place, a Jew would have been beaten into deathly submission for speaking as freely as he was now.

But this was not another time, this was not another place.

This was the trial of the Jews, the trial of eternity, the trial of one man against the nations of the world.

And Javier stood firm.

“Many years from now,” Javier said before pausing, “when real justice comes at last, you will see that you were wrong, when your worlds have turned to ash.”

“Do not speak to me of justice,” said Javier the Jew, “for I know your histories, I know your past, I know everything about this thing that you call justice.”

Javier took his eyes off of his accusers and looked towards heaven. For the first time, in the endless trial of the Jew, the Jew stood up.

He stood up, and, even though he was so much lower than all the nations of the world, he seemed to tower over them.

He reached his hands towards the heavens, and every eye in the world turned to watch him.

For the first time, the Jew stood, on his own, unbothered by the opinions of the nations. Although he was surrounded by the nations of the world, he stood alone before His G-d.

After what felt like an eternity, Javier lowered his hands, looked directly at his accusers, and, with the power and resolve of a prophet, he said:

“You put my people up on trial, as if you never have before, but your nations’ history, is filled with Jewish gore.” 

“Do not speak to me of justice, do not speak to me of crime, do not speak to me of peace, when you’ve murdered throughout time.” 

“Do not try the Jews, for the crimes you all commit, it was not us, who threw ourselves into the pit.” 

“A pox on all your houses, a pox of every nation, who still blames the Jews, for the world you all created.” 

“A star will soon come forth, from where, I do not know, and you will be rebuked, for the sins you claim are not your own.” 

“A trial of the Jews, by the nations of the land, what a wretched farce, to be judged by courts of man.” 

“A pound of all your flesh, for the pounds of mine you’ve taken, that would be your justice, the so-called justice of your nations.” 

“But that is not my way, that is not my path, so speak not now to me, I know the justice of your past.” 

Javier sat down again.

Shortly, he was thanked for his time and asked to leave the witness stand.

He left the courtroom as the jury of the nations deliberated on the case.

After about 15 minutes, the ministers from England, France, and Canada came out to deliver their verdict. Javier returned to the courtroom.

Guilty.

The nations of the world found the Jews guilty of injustice and crimes against humanity.

They sanctioned the Jewish nation and sentenced it to another 1000 years of ghetto and pogrom.

They held Javier in contempt and struck his testimony from the record.

The trial of the Jews was over. And, once again, the nations of the world found the Jews guilty of all the crimes which they themselves had committed.

Of course, you won’t find any record of the trial of the Jews in any of your history books.

But, it’s there, if you look closely, written between the lines, hiding in the shadows of history, and it continues, in every generation, in every nation, from Abraham to the present.

The trial of the Jews is the nations’ favorite pastime.

Why should it be any different now?

“Justice,” announced the High Court of Nations, “Justice has been served.”

The justice of the nations, that is.

Javier Levine stood up once more before his accusers.

“A star shall come forth from Judah,” he said.

“A star shall come forth from Judah, and then you will all realize what it is that you have done. I pray that you change your ways before then. For the the Jews, as always, will be fine. Your nations, however, your nations of hypocrisy and cruelty, yours are the ones which need to repent.”

And, with that, the Jew walked out of the Court of Nations.

He sought a higher form of justice than they could provide.

~

Spread Love, Spread Light,

Am Yisrael Chai