"J" by Howard Jacobson
A terrifying warning about antisemitism's endurance
On Monday, I posted about Israel Ellis’ new book The Wake Up Call, about global Jihad and a call to be vigilant in the face of rising threats. On Wednesday, I shared an excerpt and sneak-peek of Ben Freeman’s new book The Jews: An Indigenous People, about our history and connection to our ancestral homeland in the Land of Israel.
To cap off this self-declared book week, below I have written about a novel I read years ago that has stuck in my mind ever since. It has a pervasive and terrifying message about the impact of antisemitism and memory. It is well worth the read, especially in today’s climate, from an exceptional novelist and proud, outspoken Jew.
Howard Jacobson’s J isn’t your average dystopian novel about love, loss, and the slow collapse of society—it’s much darker, much smarter, and far more unsettling. Set in a future that now feels eerily familiar, J introduces us to Kevern Cohen, a man who knows he’s "different" but isn’t entirely sure why. The world around him is built on a strange kind of repression or silence: the past has been erased, conversations are monitored for "improper" words, and cultural identity is a memory that no one seems to want to recall. What happened to create this sanitized, eerily harmonious society? Well, that’s the question everyone avoids at all costs—because whatever "What Happened, If It Happened" was, it left a permanent stain on the world’s conscience.
At the heart of the novel is Kevern’s relationship with Ailinn Solomons, a romance clouded by an ever-present sense of doom. While they fumble through their attempts at love in a world that doesn't tolerate difference or deviation, it becomes increasingly clear that their identities are tied to a history that society is determined to forget. Jacobson, through his novel, carefully unravels a society haunted by a past of mass violence and cultural erasure—a disturbing metaphor for antisemitism and the cyclical nature of hatred. But J doesn’t offer simple answers. Instead, it gives you a glimpse into the consequences of forgetting history, punctuated by an oppressive air of dread and just enough ambiguity to keep you awake at night wondering how close we already are to living in its world.
Forgetting the Past: The Ultimate Power Play
Jacobson’s portrayal of antisemitism in J is especially chilling because it’s no longer an active movement—it’s something worse. It’s embedded in the silence, a ghost that everyone pretends doesn’t exist while it continues to haunt the margins of society. It is something that happened, not something that is currently happening. It dealt with the Jews, and it’s over. Antisemitism in J is less about outright violence (though we’re pretty sure that happened too) and more about cultural erasure and the kind of insidious prejudice that’s harder to pin down. The real danger isn’t jackbooted thugs shouting hate slogans—it’s a society that has rewritten its history, replaced uncomfortable truths with soothing lies, and quietly removed all signs of "difference" from public life.
Sound familiar? It should. In recent years, we’ve seen a terrifying resurgence of antisemitism across the globe. From violent attacks on synagogues to social media cesspools overflowing with conspiracy theories, to Kanye West outright describing himself on social media as a “Nazi” with hardly any backlash from non-Jews, antisemitism has slipped out of the shadows and into broad daylight. In Canada and the United States, antisemitic incidents are at record highs, and in Europe, far-right political parties are embracing age-old tropes with unsettling ease. The internet, in its infinite wisdom, has supercharged old-school prejudice, helping anti-Jewish conspiracies go viral at a speed that would have made 1930s propaganda ministers green with envy.
Jacobson’s World: A Mirror, Not an Escape
The most terrifying part of J is how close it feels to our world today. Jacobson’s dystopia isn’t some distant Orwellian nightmare; it’s a warped mirror of our present reality. What makes J hit even harder is its depiction of cultural erasure—a phenomenon we’re seeing play out in real time. Holocaust denial and historical revisionism are on the rise, with some political movements working hard to "reframe" history or erase it altogether. Ask the Palestinians if they think the Jewish Temple once stood on the Temple Mount (why else would it be called the “Temple” Mount? Their official answer is no, there were never any Jews here). When societies refuse to confront their pasts, they create the perfect conditions for history to repeat itself. Jacobson knows this all too well, and he’s not interested in sugarcoating the consequences.
In J, no one talks about what happened to the Jews (it is always referred to as “What Happened, If It Happened”), because acknowledging it would mean confronting uncomfortable truths. Sound like a certain kind of "let’s move on and not dwell on the past" rhetoric we’ve all heard before? Jacobson’s characters live in the aftermath of a catastrophe they’ve buried so deeply they no longer know how to access it. Unfortunately, burying history doesn’t kill it—it just allows it to fester and mutate into something worse.
The Real World’s Version of “What Happened, If It Happened”
We might not be living in J’s dystopia just yet, but let’s not pat ourselves on the back too quickly. Antisemitism today is a master of reinvention. It’s gone from medieval religious persecution to 20th-century genocide to modern political conspiracy theories—and it’s thriving in the 21st century, fueled by the internet and a dangerously short collective memory. Hate crimes are on the rise, Holocaust education is disturbingly lacking in many parts of the world, and extremist groups are happily recruiting from behind anonymous online profiles.
Jacobson’s novel is a reminder that forgetting isn’t a neutral act; it’s a choice, and a dangerous one at that. In J, forgetting leads to the ultimate act of control: cultural erasure. When a society decides that certain histories are too painful or too inconvenient to remember, it creates fertile ground for hatred to return, stronger and harder to combat. And let’s be clear: this isn’t just a problem for "other people" or "other countries." The resurgence of antisemitism is happening everywhere, now, in broad daylight. Pretending otherwise is exactly how you end up living in the world of J.
Resist, Remember, Repeat
So, what’s the takeaway? J isn’t just a terrifying piece of speculative fiction—it’s a call to action. Jacobson isn’t interested in subtlety; his novel is a warning siren blaring at full volume. History doesn’t stay buried, and hatred doesn’t disappear just because we ignore it, or kill all the Jews. If we want to avoid the dystopia of J, we need to confront prejudice head-on, educate future generations about the realities of antisemitism, and refuse to let anyone rewrite history for the sake of convenience.
Jacobson’s message is simple but powerful: remember, resist, and stay vigilant. Antisemitism is adaptable, but so are we. The past doesn’t have to repeat itself—if we’re willing to learn from it. Otherwise, we’ll be left asking ourselves, much like the characters in J, "What happened, if it happened?" And by then, it’ll be far too late.
“J” by Howard Jacobson (Jonathan Cape, 2017), can be ordered here.
#TodayInHistory
Starting Jan 1, 2025, I began creating a daily, 90-second video of “This day in Israeli/Zionist history,” in which each day I record a reel describing something that happened on that calendar date in Israel’s history. For example, today is not only Valentine’s Day, but on February 14, 1947, Britain officially referred the Mandate over to the United Nations, dedicated to ending about 25 years of authority over Palestine, and laying the groundwork for a future Jewish State.
If you are interested in following, I am posting on Instagram (@Catch_jci) and welcome you to follow!
