running the slave trade, for
portraying blacks poorly in
films and for running a
world Zionist conspiracy.
Like sleepwalkers, blacks
and Jews drift around the
Detroit area, floating in
their own dreams. Jewish
lawyers and accountants
drive downtown, often cut
off from their surroundings'
by the embankments on the
John Lodge Expressway.
They don't see many of the
ills that pain poor black
communities: alcoholism,
illiteracy, welfare
dependency, among others.
Similarly, blacks often
see Jews as ingenious and
uniquely suited for a capi-
talist society. They also
deny outright that Jews
have any real problems,
simply because they've
made it.
When Louis Farrakhan
spoke at Michigan State
last year, blacks didn't
understand why Jews
made a big fuss. They still
don't.
When Jews lobbied
Capitol Hill earlier this
year to secure U.S. loan
guarantees for Israel,
many Jews didn't under-
stand why blacks — in par-
ticular — were outraged by
the sum of the loan: $10
billion. Why, they said,
couldn't some of that
money stay at home, in the
urban ghetto?
After this past summer's
violence in Crown Heights,
black and Jewish leaders
struggled with the fear
that similar violence could
occur in Detroit. The ques-
tion many of them are ask-
ing, "Can it happen in
Detroit?" is still
unanswered. Well, can it?
I
n the minds of some in
Jewish Detroit, Crown
Heights already has oc-
curred here. Even before
blacks and police fought on
city streets in 1967, setting
off a period of looting and
burning of downtown
businesses, Jews and blacks
had had a falling out.
The summer riots of
1943, caused by a rumor of
a race war on Belle Isle,
was the first violent sign
that all was not well in
Detroit.
Winston Lang, now
Detroit's director of the
Department of Human
Rights, said the riots were
a turning point in his edu-
cation on race.
"Some people whom I
used to walk to school with
and play with every day —
I saw them get beat up (by
blacks) just because they
were white, or Jewish,"
said Mr. Lang, who is
black.
Those 1943 riots sparked
a movement of Jews from
their old neighborhoods to
Northwest Detroit. The
1967 riot accelerated an ex-
odus of Jews from Detroit to
suburbs like Southfield and
Oak Park, with their
manicured subdivisions.
Jews transplanted city
blocks to new suburban
ghettos.
As Jews left the city,
blacks were left behind.
Even as Jews crossed Eight
Mile Road, they followed a
familiar system: they sold
their homes to blacks. In
these almost entirely black
neighborhoods, Jews con-
tinued to own and run the
candy stores, the pawn
shops, the low-cost clothing
stores, the groceries and
the liquor stores.
"So far all we
have is just the
beginningsP
Bill Nabers
In 1967, blacks erupted
again, this time over a con-
frontation with a mostly
white police force. By then,
however, many of Detroit's
Jews had moved to the
suburbs. But their stores
were victims of violence
and many of the owners
decided simply that it was
better not to operate their
businesses in the city
anymore.
Some Jews still talk
about the riots as a distinc-
tly anti-Semitic event; 15
percent of the destroyed
businesses were owned by
Jews.
Even the term to describe
the incident — "riot" —
raises the ire of community
activists.
"It's hard to say what it
was," said Richard Loben-
thal, director of the Mich-
igan Region of the Anti-
Defamation League. "It's
easy to say what it wasn't."
Mr. Lobenthal, who was
in Detroit during the '67
disturbances, prefers to
call the event an
"uprising."
The eruption of black
anger against city govern-
ment, which spun out into
several days of looting and
fires, frequently obscures
the cause: blacks felt they
were getting the short end
of the stick.
am Offen survived a
Nazi death camp and
came to Detroit in
1951. He was hobbled by a
car accident that claimed
one of his legs. Cancer took
another. He is a longtime
supporter of civil rights
groups. He recently paid a
visit to the new civil rights
memorial in Montgomery,
Ala.
His Detroit fur store was
looted in 1967. The follow-
ing year, he moved his
business to downtown
Birmingham.
"Let's face it; who did it?
Vandals, thieves . . . It
wasn't done by the
majority of the black com-
munity," he said. Mr.
Offen said that even today,
he and his friends discuss
the events of that summer.
"We really didn't think
this could happen. But un-
fortunately, it exploded,"
he said. "We don't talk
about the cause. There was
a lot of resentment among
blacks."
Mr. Offen, who traces his
interest in civil rights to
his own experiences in a
concentration camp, said
he saw the poverty and
restlessness of blacks that
summer. The violence, he
said, was like the beginn-
ing of the end of any Jew-
ish involvement in the city.
S
ment to his commitment to
and love for the area, he
says.
But he insists that
Detroit's blacks betrayed
themselves — and Jews,
starting in 1967. Black
leadership, typified by
Mayor Coleman Young,
have done everything
possible to alienate whites,
he said.
"Until you see a change
in city government, you're
not going to see a change in
relations between blacks
and Jews," he said. "I hate
to sound hopeless, but
there's a point where hope
is lost."
hat often comes
in conversation
with Jews about
blacks is frustration. Jews
do not feel blacks are in-
ferior. With the same oppor-
tunities, blacks would climb
the economic ladder just
like any other ethnic or
racial group. But there's no
hiding the feelings that
often end up in stereotypes.
There's the picture of the
black value system where
huge sums of money are
spent on designer athletic
wear and sneakers, but nary
W
Bill Nabers:
"If you don't have
face-to-face
contact, you will
continue to hold
mythical beliefs."
Gary Dembs is a bespec-
tacled Jewish man in his
mid-30s. His parents moved
from Detroit in 1962 to
Sherwood Village, a South-
field subdivision that was
almost entirely Jewish. In
1974, when he graduated
from Southfield, two of the
650 graduates were black.
His job, as a public rela-
tions consultant for non-
profit groups, is a testa-
THE DETROIT JEWISH NEWS 23