“Get the Joke or Get the Jew”: Satire and the Performance of Antisemitism from the Middle Ages to the Twenty-First Century

Abstract

The persistence of anti-Jewish and antisemitic stereotypes throughout history, from medieval times to the present, reveals the enduring power of visual and cultural narratives in shaping public perceptions of Jews. This paper examines how Yvan Attal’s film Ils sont partout effectively satirizes these stereotypes, exposing their absurdity and the dangers of such ingrained prejudices. By connecting modern satire to historical instances of antisemitism, this study emphasizes the necessity of challenging and critically analyzing these harmful depictions. While the forms of anti-Jewish and antisemitism evolve over time, the underlying biases remain disturbingly consistent across cultures and eras.

Introduction

About a decade ago, in 2016, following the terror attacks against Jews in France and Belgium, the producer, director, and actor Yvan Attal created a satirical movie titled Ils sont partout,1 translated into English as The Jews, in which he confronts his Jewish identity amidst a pervasive antisemitic atmosphere. In this movie, the story of Yvan, played by Attal himself, centers on his intense worry regarding the widespread antisemitism in France.2 As he starts to notice instances of antisemitism everywhere, he decides to seek treatment to deal with his fear, with Tobie Nathan playing his therapist.3 Yvan imagines a series of comedic,4 exaggerated scenes based on popular Jewish misunderstandings and stereotypes that are shown throughout the film, presented in a series of sketches in an absurd and sophisticated manner.

This paper offers an analysis of Attal’s movie and offers some reflections on medieval and early modern art and drama5 Attal’s film combats with satire. This study may be useful for a broader understanding of Jewish humor, particularly satire of antisemitism, as a starting point for exploring the portrayal of antisemitism in and the long continuation of such displays in contemporary performance. Methodologically, it will follow studies by scholars such as Anthony Bale, Flora Cassen, Madeline Caviness, Sara Lipton, and Miri Rubin6 and will conduct a comparative analysis of various works. Moreover, it will examine the continuity and evolution of antisemitic themes across different historical periods and visual cultures, with an emphasis on a satirical view of the subject.

Using terms like antisemitism and anti-Jewish in research spanning premodern Europe to the 21st century necessitates a careful consideration of historical context and evolving definitions.7 The term “antisemitism” is often applied to describe modern forms of hostility toward Jews, particularly in contexts shaped by racial, political, and national ideologies that arose from the 19th century onward. However, when examining premodern European contexts, the term “anti-Jewish” may be more appropriate, as it accounts for religious and social prejudice against Jews that was not yet rooted in the racialized or nationalist frameworks of modern antisemitism.8 By distinguishing between these terms, scholars can better address the shifting ideological, theological, and social frameworks that have shaped negative attitudes toward Jews across different historical periods, allowing for a more precise understanding of how these forms of prejudice have evolved.

The transformation of anti-Jewish stereotypes over time reveals both continuity and critical recontextualization. In medieval Christian polemics, stereotypes served primarily to reinforce religious hegemony by portraying Jews as morally corrupt and spiritually inferior, aligning them with the deicide myth and social exclusion.9 In contrast, Attal’s film utilizes these same stereotypes but shifts their meaning through satire, transforming them from tools of exclusion into a mechanism of self-reflection. This inversion not only exposes the absurdity of the stereotypes but also grants Jews agency in deconstructing the images imposed upon them.10 Attal’s subversive humor demonstrates how stereotypes, when repurposed, can highlight the inherent contradictions within antisemitic thinking and challenge the viewers’ preconceptions. Thus, unlike medieval polemics, modern Jewish satire like Attal’s reclaims these narratives, offering a critical lens through which Jewish identity and antisemitism can be examined within the complexities of contemporary society.

Attal’s film uniquely adapts anti-Jewish stereotypes by presenting them in the form of exaggerated, satirical sketches that serve both to highlight and deconstruct these prejudices. Unlike movies such as The Hebrew Hammer,11 or You Don’t Mess with the Zohan,12 and shows like Seinfeld, or Curb Your Enthusiasm, which employ satire to blend Jewish identity into a broader critique of societal flaws, Attal’s approach is rooted specifically in the cultural and political atmosphere of France. By framing antisemitism as a pervasive societal ailment, Attal invites viewers to recognize and question biases embedded in French culture, making his work distinct in its explicit critique of France’s social and political environment.

When it comes to French movies, Attal’s Ils sont partout is unique in that it focuses exclusively on Jews and antisemitism through satire, unlike films such as Qu’est-ce qu’on a fait au bon Dieu? (Serial [Bad] Weddings) from 2016,13 which address Jewish identity in the broader context of multicultural and interfaith relationships. While Serial (Bad) Weddings explores the comedic tensions of a multicultural family, Attal’s film sharply narrows in on antisemitism, allowing for a deep, satirical critique specifically of anti-Jewish stereotypes in French society. This focus distinguishes Ils sont partout as a satirical work dedicated to examining antisemitism itself, rather than Jewish identity within a diverse societal framework.

The film’s production was led by La Petite Reine and co-written by Attal and Emilie Frèche. Released on 1 June 2016, it generated significant controversy, reflecting the polarized discussions on antisemitism in France at the time. A key point of contention came from the film’s approach: it attempted to expose antisemitic clichés by embodying them, which drew both criticism and praise. Some audiences appreciated the film’s sophistication, while others felt uncomfortable with its portrayal of stereotypes.14 For example, Attal mentions in one of the interviews that the movie’s distributor asked him to cut out scenes from the film.15 Meanwhile, early audience reactions covered by the Jewish Telegraphic Agency highlighted mixed feelings within French Jewish communities: some appreciated the film’s daring satire, and others feared it might trigger antisemitism in a tense sociopolitical climate.16

The polar responses to Attal’s movie can be put in the context of self-deprecating stereotypes in Jewish humor, which have been a subject of scholarly debate. Psychological perspectives suggest that self-effacing wit can be a response to oppression, serving as a defense mechanism and a means of acculturation.17 In an article from 1973, Dan Ben-Amos explored if there is a Jewish humor, and particularly self-deprecating humor, that emerged as a coping mechanism intertwined with cultural identity and socio-economic conditions.18 Similarly, Jeremy Dauber examines Jewish humor within the context of antisemitism, arguing that jokes often reflect internal struggles and tensions within Jewish communities, balancing between resilience and accommodation to societal pressures. This dual purpose resonates with self-deprecating stereotypes common in Jewish humor, which often highlight individual or collective shortcomings to preempt criticism from others, flipping vulnerability into strength and laughter into resistance against antisemitism.19 In the French–Romanian satirical film Train de Vie (Train of Life, 1998)20 by Radu Mihaileanu, which tells the fictional story of a Jewish shtetl that decides to stage its own deportation to the East, with some members of the community pretending to be Nazis,21 a humorous exchange occurs between two characters. One character, trying to teach the other how to speak German, explains that “German is just like Yiddish, but without the humor.” The other responds: “So that’s why they hate us?”

Let us begin with the poster for the movie Ils sont partout (Figure 1), where a few lines are used to depict a faceless, but obviously Jewish, character, specifically a Haredi/ultraorthodox Jewish man.22 It uses a minimalistic design to convey an instantly recognizable Jew, even though not all Jews are Haredim and some are even women. However, it plays on a stereotype used in caricatures and social media in the past decades. The title of the film, Ils sont partout (They Are Everywhere), appropriates and paraphrases that of an antisemitic journal from the 1930s, Je suis partout (I Am Everywhere) (Figure 2).23 This image shows the title of the issue published on 17 February 1939,24 and also caricatures that had been well known in France since the nineteenth century, especially in regard to the Rothschild family.25 Although the film’s title was translated into Hebrew to refer to Jews being everywhere (היהודים בכל מקום), and not only as the English title The Jews, in an interview with Gaby Levin from Haaretz, Attal mentioned that he was actually referring to the antisemites who are everywhere.26 To frame this article, I will refer to the sketches according to their order and titles in the film: Les Juifs sont partout; Les Juifs ont de l’argent; Les Juifs s’entraident; Les Juifs ont tué Jésus; Le complot juif; Ras le bol de la Shoah; Et Israël27 (The Jews Are Everywhere; The Jews Have Money; The Jews Help Each Other; The Jews Killed Jesus; The Jewish Conspiracy; Fed Up with the Holocaust; And Israel).

1. Les Juifs Sont Partout

Ils sont partout opens with a narrative about a nationalist politician modeled after the far-right figure Marine Le Pen (played by Valérie Bonneton).28 Shortly before the elections, her ambitious husband (played by Benoît Poelvoorde29) discovers that his maternal grandmother was Jewish. At first, he spits at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he examines his nose (Figure 3), referring to himself as “vermin.”30

Clear references to the “Jewish hooked nose”31 have been apparent ever since the caricature of Isaac of Norwich from 1233 (Figure 4), where the devil points at Isaac and his wife’s noses.32 In a 1852 book entitled Notes on Noses by George Jabet, who wrote it as a satire (and later taken as serious) under the pseudonym Eden Warwick, we find an entire chapter on the Jewish nose.33 It starts with a physical description and moves to the meaning of character of the person—that is, the Jew—with such a nose: “The Jewish, or Hawk Nose, is very convex, and preserves its convexity like a bow, throughout the whole length from the eyes to the tip. It is thin and sharp. It indicates considerable Shrewdness in worldly matters;34 and deep insight into character, and facility of turning that insight to profitable account.”35 In the outline of the book’s classification of noses (Figure 5), the author also provides a small sketch of each particular nose, and the description of the “Snub Nose” highlights that it is “converse in shape to the Jewish nose.”36

To return to the movie and the Jewish politician character, later in the story, he convinces his wife to pretend that she has cancer so that he can take her place. When his secret is revealed, he claims that his party cannot be antisemitic since he is Jewish.37 Thus, he also reveals the shrewdness of Jewish people when put to the test.

2. Les Juifs Ont de L’argent

In Jabet’s Notes on Noses, we read: “We have said that it is a good, useful, practical nose, i.e., a good money-getting Nose, a good commercial Nose.” He then moves on to mention: “The Jews have always been celebrated for shrewdness in commercial affairs. […] And in the present age of the world, the Jews were in all countries the first revivers of commerce after the stagnation occasioned by the irruptions of the northern hordes, and in many nations are still almost the only traders.”38 In a sketch in The Jews addressing the stereotype of wealthy Jews, we encounter a character (played by Dany Boon), a petty criminal, who is recently divorced from a non-Jewish woman (played by Charlotte Gainsbourg). She angrily declares: “You’re the only Jew who’s poor. The exception! […] They all plot and exploit others; why can’t you? […] I got stuck with the name Ben-Shoshan—Can you imagine the horror? I was sure you’d earn money, but no, Mr. Ben-Shoshan has to be different! Mr. Ben-Shoshan is a Jewish rebel.” Through her words, she reveals the stereotype of the “rich Jew”, prompting him to search the web, only to conclude that all Jews are indeed rich. As a result, he begins to doubt his own Jewish identity. He confronts his parents, insisting that since they have no money, they cannot possibly be Jewish. However, after his father wins the lottery, he tries to prove to his parents that he is indeed Jewish, hoping to claim the winnings.

According to Madeline Caviness, the representation of characters in films such as The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966)39 can be traced back to visual traditions from the Middle Ages, where Jews were often portrayed negatively, with exaggerated and dehumanizing features. This continuity suggests that modern cinema is not just creating new narratives, but that it is also reinterpreting and perpetuating visual codes that were solidified during medieval times. These portrayals have evolved over time, but they remain deeply rooted in the same visual language that has historically been used to otherize and demonize Jewish people.40 Caviness argues that during the thirteenth century, European visual culture increasingly began to emphasize physical appearance as a marker of moral and spiritual character.

The film’s Mexican bandit, Tuco, who is referred to as “the ugly” and who was played by the Jewish actor Eli Wallach,41 became associated with the “Other”, including Jews,42 who were often depicted with exaggerated, dehumanizing features in art and literature. These visual representations were not merely reflections of societal attitudes, but actively contributed to the construction of racial and religious identities. Caviness particularly makes her point with regard to the scene in which “the ugly” falls onto a money bag, looking very like medieval and early modern portrayals of Judas hanging from a tree. She connects this medieval visual language to modern representations, suggesting that these early depictions of “the ugly” have influenced contemporary portrayals of marginalized groups, including Jews, in media and popular culture. The persistence of these stereotypes underscores the enduring power of visual imagery in shaping and reinforcing social hierarchies and prejudices.

3. Les Juifs S’entraident

In another of the movie’s sketches, which addresses the idea of how Jews help each other, we observe the stereotype of the petty and almost obsessive nature of Jewish yeshiva scholars. One scholar approaches another with a philosophical question, sparking a lively and intense debate: “Two men come down a chimney. One comes out with a clean face, the other comes out with a dirty face. Which one washes his face?” This is an old folkloristic joke,43 which Attal repurposes in the movie to serve as a serious Talmudic theme, and how Talmudic reasonings are perceived. The first person sees that his friend is clean and assumes he must be clean too, while the second person sees the other covered in soot and concludes that he must also be dirty. The question and the answers become so entangled that reaching a logical conclusion seems almost impossible. The very premise—that two people could emerge from the same chimney, yet only one would be dirty—is inherently flawed. This type of time-consuming and ultimately meaningless argument is used as a satirical commentary on how Jews are perceived.

Returning to the nineteenth-century book Notes on Noses, we find a paragraph that encapsulates such opinions on Jews, framed within a broader discussion on the characteristics of the “Jewish nose”:

Though some attempts have been lately made to prove that the Hebrew nation has furnished more learned men than any other, the attempts are an utter failure. Curious wranglers, ingenious cabalists, fine splitters of hairs, shrewd perverters of texts, sharp detectors of discrepancies, clever concocters of analogies, and finders of mysteries in a sunbeam constitute the mass of modern Jewish scholars. What is the Talmud, the Mishna, the Gemara, or any of their comments thereon, or on Scripture, but mere puerile exercises of wit, sometimes ingenious, but always reckless of truth, decency, or common sense?44

In the satirical Israeli TV show The Jews Are Coming (HaYehudim Ba’im, היהודים באים), there is a sketch that addresses the antisemitic myth of “The Elders of Zion”, presenting a satirical take on the stereotypical Jewish dominance of the world. In this sketch, an ongoing discussion about the plausibility of the image of the Jew taking over the world in the form of an octopus leads one of the Jews at the table to ponder the main question: How could a giant octopus that is holding on to the world breathe out of water? The sketch flips the subject on its head by mocking Jewish meticulousness and attention to detail. The central rabbi, whose name is Goldberg (played by Moni Moshonov), is portrayed as embodying the stereotypical association between Jews and money. He dictates the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, explaining that their first goal is to take over America through the funds generated by interest-bearing loans. His entire body language, particularly the way in which he holds his hands with bent fingers, conveys a sense of conspiracy and malicious intent. To his right sits a character with a hooked nose, shown in profile to emphasize stereotypical Jewish features.

The character on Rabbi Goldberg’s left (played by Ido Mosseri), who is tasked with writing the protocols, begins to question whether an octopus (painted light blue with a Star of David above its head, which is a reproduction of the German cartoon by Seppla (Josef Plank) from around 1938)45 is an effective symbol (Figure 6 and Figure 7). He worries about how the octopus will breathe and expresses concern that the headlines will blame Jews for causing the extinction of the species. The main rabbi responds, “Zuckerman, we’re planning to take over the world—don’t you think that will make for a worse headline?” Despite this, Zuckerman remains unconvinced and tries to explain the challenges of waging war against the octopus as a species. Eventually, they all agree that the octopus is only an allegory. However, the sketch ends with a humorous twist: two octopuses in the sea, with one saying to the other, “Have you heard? The Jews are planning to murder a giant octopus in space”.

Figure 6. Still from The Jews are Coming, “The Protocols of the Elders of Zion.” Session 1, Kan11, broadcast on 6 December 2014.

Figure 6. Still from The Jews are Coming, “The Protocols of the Elders of Zion.” Session 1, Kan11, broadcast on 6 December 2014.

Figure 7. Antisemitic cartoon by Seppla (Josef Plank)—An octopus with a Star of David over its head has its tentacles encompassing a globe. C. 1938, Germany. United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, courtesy of Library of Congress. Copyright: Public Domain Source Record ID: 3575.

Figure 7. Antisemitic cartoon by Seppla (Josef Plank)—An octopus with a Star of David over its head has its tentacles encompassing a globe. C. 1938, Germany. United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, courtesy of Library of Congress. Copyright: Public Domain Source Record ID: 3575.

Figure 8. Alphonse de Rothschild (1827–1905) in a Musée des Horreurs poster, “No. 2 N’a qu’un oeil”, 1899–1900.

Figure 8. Alphonse de Rothschild (1827–1905) in a Musée des Horreurs poster, “No. 2 N’a qu’un oeil”, 1899–1900.

Figure 9. Charles Leandre, drawing of Alphonse de Rothschild, “The Jews Take Over the World”, Le Rire 180, 16 April 1898.

Figure 9. Charles Leandre, drawing of Alphonse de Rothschild, “The Jews Take Over the World”, Le Rire 180, 16 April 1898.

4. Les Juifs Ont tué Jésus and Le Complot Juif

In another sketch, Yvan deals with the accusation that the Jews killed Jesus. Mossad (Israel’s Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations) builds a time machine and is wondering whether the Mossad can use it to end antisemitism. Eventually, they come to the conclusion that by killing baby Jesus, all future antisemitism will vanish, since it is all related to the accusation that the Jews killed Jesus. Mossad sends an agent named Norbert (played by Gilles Lellouche) to kill baby Jesus; however, he falls in love with Mary and is crucified instead of Jesus, leading to him being praised 2000 years later (so even this plan did not help to end antisemitism).46

In the Middle Ages, this accusation of a Jewish plot to harm Jesus did not remain confined to the historical past; rather, blood libel was plotted47 and illustrated from at least the thirteenth century onwards in texts, visual culture, and liturgical drama.48 Now, let us turn to some details from an altarpiece image of the Virgin by Jaume Serra (1358–1389/95), a Catalonian painter, where we find an illustration of the well-known tale of a Eucharistic miracle that took place in Paris in 1290 (Figure 10) in which a Christian woman steals the host and gives it to a Jewish pawnbroker, who is here seen stabbing the host, with the image of Christ appearing after the host is thrown into a boiling cauldron.49 The image here portrays simultaneous phases of the story and includes a visual distinction between the Jewish boy, who is represented as resembling Jesus, and his dark-skinned father. At the end, the mother and son convert, while the father is executed.

A similar story is found in a fifteenth-century liturgical drama. The Croxton Play of the Sacrament was written in the East Midland dialect of Middle English not long after 1461, the year in which the event that is the central topic of the play is supposed to have taken place. The Play of the Sacrament is set in Aragon and tells the story of a miracle in which a rich Jewish merchant named Jonathas and his companions purchase a consecrated host from a Christian merchant called Aristorius and subject it to a series of tests in order to determine the truth of the Christian claim that Christ is present in it. When that becomes evident, the Jews convert.50

Early in the play, the local priest dines with Aristorius, suggestively on red wine and light bread, and then retires to bed, leaving him with the church key. Aristorius promptly enters the church, steals the host, and hands it over to Jonathas and his men. Jonathas and his colleagues rehearse the articles of Christian belief—Christ at the Last Supper, the establishment of the Church, the virgin birth, the kingship and resurrection of Jesus, and the apostolic mission. Then, they stab the host as it lies on a table and inflict the five wounds of Christ on it, re-enacting the torture of Jesus. As Jonathas makes the fifth wound, in the center, the host begins to bleed. Jonathas calls for help. He tries to throw the host into a cauldron of boiling oil; it will not leave his hand, so they nail it to a board (thus mocking the cross). When they pull Jonathas away, his hand is torn off and left hanging with the crucified host. There then enters a quack doctor, Magister Phisicus, with his company. They offer their services to the Jews, who beat them away.

The Jews then pluck out the nails and throw both hand and host, now coalesced, into the boiling oil. Jonathas, asking for Jesus’ advice, kneels before him, as do the others, and they address Jesus in the language of poetic penance. He accepts their conversion and restores Jonathas’s hand to his arm. Afterward, Jonathas and his men go to the bishop and proclaim the miracle, and the bishop goes to their house and sees the image of Christ change back into bread, the host. The merchant Aristorius confesses his unlawful bargain to the priest. They all go to church with the bishop, who lays the host on the altar. He then baptizes the Jews and everyone sings the Te Deum.51

According to David Bevington, this play was probably performed during the feast of Corpus Christi. The last scene takes place in a church, and thus the audience would have felt as though they were experiencing an actual liturgical ceremony instead of a mere play. Bevington even mentions a demonstration of the Mass at the International Congress on Medieval Studies in Kalamazoo, where “the many members of religious orders who were there all stood or knelt at the appropriate times as the Mass was sung, so that one could never be sure whether one was beholding a Mass or a theatrical event”,52 comparing the modern experience to that of the medieval audience.

Shifting beyond the medieval period, we now turn to the twenty-first century. As part of the production entitled the Blood Project, the play was staged at Magdalen College, Oxford, on 10 January 2004.53 Here, we open with a puppet show, where the Jew wears a yellow star and the players performing the role of the Jew all wear black with yellow gloves (Figure 11). This use of the stereotypical color yellow to portray the Jews reveals more about the modern audience than the medieval past, according to Elisabeth Dutton,54 the director, in the program.

Our aim in staging the Croxton Play of the Sacrament is not to endorse its objectionable and fantastical images of Jews, but to expose them. In order to expose the Jewish caricature, we have followed its exaggeration in the Croxton play. We have adopted a self-consciously theatrical style in acting and costumes, which also play on medieval Christian symbolism: yellow, the color of perfidy, was frequently used in portrayals of Jews.

Much like Yvan Attal’s movie, the modern production displays a satirical twist on the original anti-Jewish displays.

In the play, the actual story takes place in a country that is far removed from where the story/play was actually written.55 This could hint at a broader understanding of the so-called Jewish conspiracy to harm Jesus’s body and to desecrate the host in a re-enactment of a ritual similar to the crucifixion and the church Mass. It appears that there is a common public discourse of Jew-hatred, both verbal and visual, which transcends languages and borders. Let us remember that the Jews of England were expelled in 1290 and that not a single Jew was living in England during the time the play was written, much like when the Merchant of Venice and the character of Shylock were written and performed in Shakespeare’s time. Hence, in the English play, the imagined rituals of the Jews are received as facts known from external sources, and the “hermeneutical Jew”, to use Jeremey Cohen’s term,56 is intended to better reinforce the stance of the “real presence of Christ in the Mass” in the time and place of writing. A similar understanding of the play is articulated in Anthony Bale’s summary of its modern production. In both cases, the performance is intended for a Christian audience with a clear agenda and it may teach us nothing about actual Jewish rituals, although it does help us to understand how they were perceived.

Another look at blood libels is offered by Daniel Véri, who examines two case studies relating to the Tiszaeszlár blood libel (1882–1883) in visual and textual displays and focuses on performance aspects and the message delivered to the intended audience—paintings were primarily intended for the urban bourgeoisie, whereas the genre of folk songs appears to have been a predominantly rural phenomenon.57 Even though Véri’s case studies focus on Hungary and also partly on Romania, his conclusions reflect how techniques of mass persuasion regarding ritual murder remain unchanged since the Middle Ages and the early modern period in different areas.

To summarize so far, in Yvan Attal’s movie, the antisemitic claim that Jews killed Jesus is explored in a satirical sketch in which Mossad invents a time machine to kill baby Jesus, thinking that this will eliminate future antisemitism, but the plan goes awry when the agent sent back falls in love with Mary and ends up crucified. This modern satire draws on historical accusations and blood libel myths that were depicted in medieval texts, art, and plays, such as Jaume Serra’s altarpiece and the Croxton Play of the Sacrament, both of which portrayed Jews in a harmful and conspiratorial light. These examples illustrate how antisemitic stereotypes have been portrayed in visual and cultural narratives from the Middle Ages to the present.

5. Ras le Bol de la Shoah

In the penultimate sketch of the movie, Yvan Attal tackles the memory of the Holocaust, suggesting that some people believe that Jews insist on keeping the Holocaust at the forefront of public consciousness, which can be somewhat burdensome. The sketch begins with a volunteer reader (played by François Damiens) to Alzheimer’s patients who lives across from a Holocaust memorial. He feels irritated by the constant flow of visitors and the existence of a dedicated Holocaust remembrance day and becomes increasingly annoyed when Jews from China begin singing in Hebrew at the memorial, complaining to his wife: “I can’t stand their Holocaust. […] The Jews don’t have a monopoly on suffering. […] I’ve suffered too. It’s hard to be a redhead in a blonde-brown world […] no one recognized my suffering because the Jews get all the sympathy.” His wife (played by Claude Perron) sarcastically suggests that he start a union, which he takes seriously, leading him to launch a movement advocating for red-haired people’s rights. During one protest, he clashes with a Jewish man dressed in traditional Orthodox attire who is actively involved in the movement. The character experiences a conflict between the Jewish identity of this person and his membership of a minority group—specifically, red-haired people.58

In the final scene of the sketch, the founder of the red-haired minority movement is shown working with elderly dementia patients, attempting to help them remember their phone numbers through a song. An elderly man steps onto the stage, but instead of reciting the numbers from the song, he insists on repeating a different number. When told he is mistaken, he begins to recite the number in German. The elderly man then angrily asserts that he remembers his number perfectly: “I remember it with my father, my little brother—they ordered us to stretch our arms forward, and my father made me promise never to forget.” He then rolls up his sleeve, revealing a tattooed number on his arm that matches the number he has been reciting.

6. Et Israël

In a 1983 article, Ben Zion Degany meticulously recounted how German Passion plays in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries paved the way for popular assent to the mass expulsion of Jews from areas of the German lands.59 The movie The Jews turns this methodology on its head and shows what might happen if a European country—France—were to become Jewish. In the epilog, France votes to become a Jewish state because the president (played by Patrick Braoudé), who is desperately attempting to rescue the economy, believes that France will benefit financially from the move as all Jews are rich. The last scene of the movie includes an aerial view of Paris, in which a loud siren erupts from the speakers as a massive surface-to-surface missile slowly descends on the Eiffel Tower.

These final two sketches in Ils sont partout mark a shift from the more traditional anti-Jewish stereotypes discussed earlier in the film. While earlier sketches, such as those focusing on wealth, conspiracies, and the killing of Jesus, directly echo medieval portrayals of Jews as greedy, cunning, and spiritually corrupt, these final two sketches deal with contemporary societal tensions surrounding Jewish memory and identity. This distinction is deliberate and reflects the modern dimension of Attal’s satire, where the focus shifts from historical stereotypes to the political and cultural burdens Jews navigate in today’s world.

In “Ras le bol de la Shoah”, the stereotype centers not on ancient myths but on the notion that Jews monopolize suffering through the Holocaust’s persistent memory. This reflects a frustration in parts of contemporary society, where public discourse questions the relevance of Holocaust remembrance, especially when other groups’ traumas seem overshadowed. Unlike medieval anti-Jewish tropes that demonized Jews for their perceived power or religious difference, this stereotype critiques the dynamics of public memory and sympathy. Attal’s sketch mocks the absurdity of such frustrations, represented through the protagonist’s attempt to start a union for red-haired people to compete with Jewish suffering, highlighting how antisemitism can mutate into resentment of Jewish memory rather than Jewish existence. This tension has no direct parallel in medieval stereotypes but reflects a modern discomfort with the role of the Holocaust in shaping collective identity and public commemoration.

Similarly, the sketch “Et Israël” addresses political stereotypes linked to Israel and global Jewish identity, diverging from the personal stereotypes explored in earlier parts of the film.60 The idea that France could solve its economic problems by becoming a Jewish state plays on both contemporary antisemitic narratives about Jewish financial control and political fantasies about Israel’s supposed omnipotence. This sketch encapsulates a geopolitical stereotype, rooted in modern political discourse. By portraying a Jewish France threatened by missile attacks, Attal parodies the way some political actors project unrealistic expectations and fears onto Jewish identity and Israel’s existence.

In conclusion, the persistence of anti-Jewish and antisemitic stereotypes throughout history, from medieval times to the present, reveals the enduring power of visual and cultural narratives in shaping public perceptions of Jews. Yvan Attal’s film effectively satirizes these stereotypes, exposing the absurdity and danger of such ingrained prejudices. By connecting modern satire to historical instances of antisemitism, the paper underscores the need to critically examine and challenge these harmful depictions, reminding us that while the forms of antisemitism may evolve, the underlying biases remain disturbingly consistent across time and culture.

As opposed to satirical works from the American entertainment industry, Attal’s Ils sont partout offers an introspective look at Jewish identity and antisemitism from a distinctly French perspective. For instance, the sketch involving a far-right politician discovering his Jewish ancestry mocks both French nationalist and antisemitic tropes, framing them within contemporary political realities in France. Released shortly after significant antisemitic attacks in Europe, the film emerged during a heightened period of tension and fear among European Jews. Its reception in French media as well as public opinion was mainly polarized; some appreciated its directness, while others felt it risked reinforcing stereotypes, almost to the degree of provoking antisemitic reactions. This division highlights the film’s role as a cultural touchstone, capturing the complexities of modern European antisemitism and Jewish identity in a non-American context.

Moreover, in contrast to American Jewish humor, such as expressed by The Hebrew Hammer, which centers on the experience of American Jews, particularly Ashkenazi Jews,61 Ils sont partout includes a nuanced portrayal of the distinction between Sephardi and Ashkenazi within French Jewry. Attal, himself of Sephardic origin, highlights cultural stereotypes, depicting Ashkenazi Jews as more reserved and less expressive, while Sephardic Jews are portrayed as louder and more gestural. This differentiation addresses how societal stereotypes impact these groups differently, with Sephardic Jews facing distinct prejudices. By drawing on his Sephardic roots, Attal adds a unique layer to the satire, capturing the diversity within Jewish identity in France, a dimension often less explored in American Jewish humor.

In the sketch about the Mossad’s time machine, the accusation that “Jews killed Jesus” is ridiculed by showing how efforts to erase this myth backfire: the agent, sent to kill baby Jesus, ends up crucified himself. This playful twist highlights the persistence of antisemitic narratives, suggesting that their absurdity lies in their resilience despite efforts to dismantle them. The appropriation of stereotypes extends further in Ils sont partout through the sketch about Holocaust memory, where a red-haired man complains that Jewish suffering overshadows all others. This scene echoes the persistence of victimhood narratives; while medieval art depicts Jews as Christ-killers responsible for sacred suffering, Attal flips the narrative by exploring modern resentment against Jewish memory of the Holocaust. His satire draws attention to how easily narratives about suffering can be weaponized or trivialized in both historical and contemporary contexts.

Another example from the film involves the stereotype of Jewish wealth. The divorced character’s frustration with her Jewish ex-husband—“You’re the only Jew who’s poor”—mocks the reductive notion that all Jews are wealthy and conspiratorial. This scene reflects Attal’s strategy: he uses humor to expose the impossibility of living up to or escaping such stereotypes, complicating the relationship between identity and societal expectation. In these ways, Attal’s film reflects the continuity of antisemitic stereotypes across history but also demonstrates their fluidity. The stereotypes are no longer static accusations but instead become tools for critique, humor, and even self-reckoning. By reclaiming these negative images, Attal transforms their function from mechanisms of marginalization to instruments of introspection, inviting audiences—Jewish and non-Jewish alike—to confront the complexities of identity, prejudice, and memory in the 21st century. This evolution from medieval polemics to modern satire showcases the subversive potential of humor, which can expose the contradictions within stereotypes and offer a space for challenging inherited prejudices.