Boston is home to few Orange marches There were, to put it mildly, a few raised eyebrows at Jamie Kirchick’s recent suggestion (albeit made very much in passing) that Irish Massachusetts might be tempted to tip towards the Scots-Irishman John McCain in November. As Daniel Koffler pointed out on these pages a few weeks ago, most Irish immigrants to the fledgling United States were of Protestant, and usually Scottish, lineage, and coined the phrase “Scots-Irish” only when Catholic emigrants began to flood into America during the great Famine of 1845-51. So, on the face of it, Catholic Boston --- which is more Irish than the Irish themselves (I almost wrote plus royaliste que le roi) --- would be less likely to vote McCain, not more.

In the land they left behind, three hundred years, several civil wars and that infamous famine only exacerbated the divide between the native Catholic community and the largely Scottish Protestant settlers (who started arriving in 1610, which in Irish terms is the day before yesterday). The original “two state solution” of 1921 has taken the best part of another century to settle into uneasy peace, and to the uninitiated, the ancient feud is all but incomprehensible. To take an example more or less at random, Northern Ireland is one of the few places where you will see the Star of David being flown in solidarity with Israel - a nation whose robust response to terrorism, as Protestants see it, has led to unjust vilification the world over - whilst Catholics, who see themselves as a people oppressed, fly the Palestinian flag in response.

All this is a roundabout way of saying that this is a story of byzantine complexity, peopled with protagonists possessed of extremely long memories, and two communities that are quite distinct and, historically at least, mutually antipathetic. (Which makes Hillary’s achievement in bringing peace to the island all the more remarkable.)

McCain’s pitch to the Scots-Irish constituency, on the other hand, is not terribly subtle. That the war hero chooses to tour the nation on a "No Surrender" Bus may not trip too many alarm wires in the average voter, but to any self-respecting Ulsterman, though the words to the old song vary depending on who you ask, the resonance is immediate and unambiguous. (It commemorates the defense of Derry against the besieging forces of the Catholic James II in 1689. Remember: long memories.)

“The cry was no surrender
But come when duty calls
With heart and hand and sword and shield
We'll guard old Derry's walls”

But memory can also play tricks. I well remember, on my first visit to New York some years ago, being astounded to hear the Orange anthem, “The Sash My Father Wore,” playing in a Manhattan pub which otherwise appeared the very epitome of hardcore expat republicanism, right down to the painting of IRA hunger striker Bobby Sands on the wall. My drinking companion, a large man from Cork, growled at me to keep my counsel; it wouldn’t do, he said, to point out the owner’s naivety when we were guests in his establishment (and, not incidentally, consuming the first of several beers on the house). Experiencing the hyper-patriotism of Irish-Americans at first hand is a little like watching Mel Gibson’s ludicrous Braveheart in a crowd of Scottish nationalists: As the music swells and the eyes around you grow more misty, it seems almost rude to point out that a chisel-jawed William Wallace shagging Queen Isabella of France is just ahistorical tripe. It doesn’t pay to delve too deeply into the details.

Rangers v. Celtic: Fans had to be barred from singing IRA anthemsIrish-Americans, of course, are far from being the only offenders in this regard. From Diaspora Armenians and Cuban-American exiles in America to Palestinians in London, or Greeks whose families were forced from Asia Minor, a romanticised version of home always jostles for space with a heightened sense of victimhood and hostility to the historical oppressor. Any immigrant community has to work hard to maintain their unique identity; through religion, through art and music, food, holidays, even sports teams. “Where e'er we go”, as the Pogues once put it, “we celebrate the land that makes us refugees”.

Jews are better than most at hanging on to these golden threads of identity, thanks to an unusually rich cultural and religious heritage which stands proudly apart and passed down, through ties of blood, whether the next generation likes it or not. For the rest of us, with the passage of time, the threads binding us to our homes loosen one by one; each generation less religious than the last --- in Christian communities, at least --- and our traditions and languages diluted through assimilation. (Let’s just say I’d be surprised if Kim Kardashian speaks much Armenian.) And so we replace these gaps with a pastiche of symbolisms; the tales become taller, the ballads louder, and the outrages perpetrated against ancestors all the more brutal, until you are faced with the grotesque spectacle of collection plates for the IRA being passed around well-to-do Massachusetts soirees.

Is there anything distinctively “Scots-Irish” about McCain’s rhetoric? Well, maybe. Certainly it is likely to go down well among those of his fellow countrymen who share the faith of his fathers, but to the extent that it does so, that may be because it speaks to broader, more populist ideas of patriotism and service to one’s country (“something greater than myself,” etc. etc.), and pitches his tent squarely on blue-collar territory. Scots-Irish tend to live in red states like the Carolinas and Virginia anyway; Massachusetts is less likely to be swayed by exclusionary sloganeering that reminds Irish-Americans of all the things they don’t like about their Protestant neighbours.

At the very least, John McCain should be cautious about the buttons he chooses to press. No-one ever made a buck betting against the Irish.

After Shabbat I’m off to Dublin to do research for my book. I studied in Dublin for a few months in 2004 at Trinity College Dublin and had an awesome time and a particularly interesting Jewish experience. Though this trip I’m going to spend a lot of time in posh kitchen redecorating shops (long story), I hope to hit Terenure Hebrew Congregation for shacharit one day (I figure if I lay tefillin all the way up on the balcony, I won’t offend any one). There are a bunch of other fun Jew-y things to do in Dublin, though.
Outside the Jewish Museum: Herzog wuz here

First, you really should stop by Terenure Hebrew Congregation. If you’re going to be there for Shabbat let Rabbi Lent, the local Chabad rabbi, know ahead of time, and he’ll almost certainly invite you over for a meal. His family is charming, and you’re sure to get great food.

The other must when visiting Dublin is the Jewish Museum. It’s a little disorganized and crowded, but really interesting. You have to check ahead of time to see when it’s open (when it’s not peak tourist season it’s only open on Sundays) but it’s definitely worth a visit, and it’s free (but be ready to be asked to make a donation).

When I was living at TCD I used to frequently run into tours of the campus done in Hebrew for various Israeli groups. If you’re interested in such a group, I suggest contacting the Chief Rabbi’s office, and I bet he can put you in touch with the right people.

One of the funny things about being in Dublin was how often I heard people speaking Hebrew, and/or ran into obviously frum people on vacation there. Obviously, you can’t plan on this, but if you keep your ears open I guarantee you’ll hear some thick Israeli accents.

I found Irish people to feel a strange affection for Jews. When I was in Dublin people were always telling me that “the Irish are the Jews of Europe.” And then I always said, “Actually, the Jews are the Jews of Europe. But yes, we do share a past of persecution and great struggles.” Amazingly, the wonderful book about Ireland, Ireland and the Irish by John Ardagh begins by equating the Irish experience with the Jewish experience:

“Ireland has always been a special case. This green and beautiful island, with its talented, eloquent and wayward people, has frequently aroused strong feelings among foreigners—of romantic affection or plain exasperation. And the Irish themselves have always felt an exceptional patriotism. Like the Jews, they have a huge diaspora. And apart from the Jews there are few other people in the West with so strong a sense of their own identity, even uniqueness.”

Um, okay. Weird, but kind of awesome, right? Anyway, I know Ireland is a strange place to go to feel Jewish, but for some reason it really does work that way.

For further reading on what to do on a trip to Dublin check SomethingJewish’s Jewish Dublin site. The New York Times Magazine did a story on the Irish Jewish community a few years ago, and it’s worth a read. And if you’re feeling brave, try reading Ulysses, whose protagonist is identified as Jewish and takes place in Dublin.

Irish Pride: Getcha some!I have a green T shirt I like to wear, a cheap thing I bought at Target. It screams (in puffy paint, no less) IRISH PRIDE! Of course there’s a gigantic shamrock on it.

And I can’t count the times people have come up to me, and stared at it, and said, “But I thought you were Jewish? Aren’t you Jewish?”

When this happens, I like to explain that I’m hardly the first Irish Jew. I mention Leopold Bloom (though I’m not sure he’s anybody’s Jewish role model). But my entire response is kind of misleading, since my own JewishyIrishy status stems from my mother NOT being Jewish (she’s Irish Catholic, and her name is Mary Catherine, Kate for short).

But despite my own blended heritage, there is a Jewish Community in Ireland, and since St Patrick’s Day is next week, I thought this might be the time to mention it here.

The history of Irish Judaism is interesting… and documented as far back as 1079. By 1241 there was almost certainly a growing community near Dublin. There was even a Jewish Mayor in County Cork in 1555 (which I was kind of shocked to find out!)

In general, there have never been very many Jews in Ireland, which might explain why the Irish have been pretty decent to the Jews overall (there’s only one real pogrom on record. But sadly, the more recent history is uglier than the ancient stuff:

Ireland's behavior towards Jewish refugees fleeing the Holocaust was, in the later words of Justice Minister Michael McDowell "antipathetic, hostile and unfeeling". Dr Mervyn O'Driscoll of University College Cork reported on the unofficial and official barriers that prevented Jews from finding refuge in Ireland: "Although overt anti-Semitism was untypical, the Irish were indifferent to the Nazi persecution of the Jews and those fleeing the third Reich.

Still, Chaim Herzog was an Irish Jew. As was Robert Briscoe. And although the Irish Jews are dwindling (since 1948, most have moved to Israel, and in fact more live there now than in Ireland) it’s worth reading about.

I can’t help wondering if maybe the intermarriage rates will produce more JewishyIrishy types like me, and cause a resurgence of interest in this particular strain of Jewish culture. After all, both tribes are pretty ridiculously invested in food, history, literature, and politics.

Not a bad match.

(Incidentally, the flag was designed for me by my good friend, Barry. He’s not Jewish, but he always calls me on Jewish holidays—just to wish me well)