Peterhouse was founded in 1284 which makes it the oldest of the colleges in Cambridge University. A “college” provides a residence for students going for degrees at various levels and also for Fellows and other instructors who will be available to educate those students. However, as I am reliably informed (by my English collegial friend Michael Smithurst), exams are administered and degrees granted by the university, not the colleges.

Anyway, at the time when I was married to an instructor at Sydney University’s Department of Traditional and Modern Philosophy and additionally attached to that Department as a Research Affiliate, the Department hosted a dinner for a visiting philosopher who was described to me as “from Peterhouse.” He wasn’t planning to stay with us, but (if memory serves) had made us one stop on his speaking tour of certain Australian universities. 

Since the philosophers at Trad & Mod had a friendly relation to me, they gave me their heads up about Peterhouse. Apparently it had, even at that time, a stand-out reputation for Anti-Semitism. Okay. Sedimentary layers of the stuff must have really piled up since 1284.

I figured I’d be at the dinner as the wife of a member of the Department, as well as having my own philosophic reason for being present at such an occasion. Therefore, I supposed there’d be no cause for our guest’s awkward but surely private prejudices to be on view.

Golly, my mistake. Somehow the fact of my Jewish identity was mentioned and our guest from Peterhouse needed no further prompt to turn all his attention to me. Let me assure you that his attention was the reverse of flattering.

I’ve asked Jerry Martin (my husband today) what he would have done had he been in the position of my then husband. Jerry said promptly that he would have risen from the table and – without hesitation – taken us both home.

Husband number one was not so bold a character. So he did all he could, which was to keep saying “He’s baiting you!” under his breath.

As we see, I’ve never forgotten the incident. My question today is, what kept me in my seat at the dinner table? After all, I could have retired to the ladies’ room, pleading a sudden indisposition. 

The restraining factors were probably these:

     (a) I felt that I too was a beneficiary of the Department and, as such ought not to make anything resembling a fuss or a scene.

     (b) I felt that my then husband’s social position within the Department might have suffered had I reacted more dramatically than I did.

     (c) I felt that I was participating in a dinner designed to honor a guest and – even if the guest was being rude – it would be ungracious to return his rudeness with my own.

None of my then motives seem to me contemptible or unworthy. But, since that night, I’ve always felt that none were exactly right. Why not? Well, more was at stake than is covered by (a), (b) and (c). What more was that?

First, Mr. Peterhouse went back home to England entirely satisfied with himself and persuaded that, once again, he had come off a winner. That belief wasn’t good for him.

Second, it was a matter of honor. There was my honor and the honor of the Jewish people. Since my then husband would not have taken me home, and women never could settle such matters by telegraphing physical threats, my departure from the dinner table was the only thing I could have done to mark this event as one that had violated the honor of a people.

In any case – and by whatever methods for defending it one can find –

honor must be defended.

Related Content: Rudeness | Anti-Semitism and the Zeitgeist