To Be Anti-Antisemitic

Today we present a transcript of the Yom Kippur sermon given by Rabbi Jonathan Aaron of Temple Emanuel of Beverly Hills

Card drawn by Rabbi Aaron’s mother

Last week I talked about October 7th, Israel, and the existential threat the country faces. This week, I’d like to talk about October 7th, the United States, and the existential threat to Judaism, and American Jews. Over the past year, whenever anyone asked me how I was doing with everything that’s going on, I would say, “This has been the hardest year ever to be Jewish, and I never felt more Jewish than this year.”

Accusations of Genocide began here in the United States of America, on TV and on campus — THAT DAY. Then, not so slowly, the rallies began. The rhetoric, the intimidation, the violence, the vandalism, the ripping down pictures of hostages, all a part of the pro-Palestinian rallies. Some of the signs at the rallies: “Zionism is Fascism,” “Zionism is a cancer,” “Zionists are Nazis.” “Keep the world clean” with a drawing of a garbage can with Israeli flags hovering over it. There were the publicly controversial signs, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” Or the Arabic version seen at some of the rallies, “From water to water, Palestine will be Arab.” Make no mistake about it, please, that phrase means the death of all the Jews that live in Israel, and when I see it, even in pictures or on video, here, on the streets I drive often, I’m fearful, for me.

There has been an emphasis nowadays on microaggressions, to really listen to people when they say something hurts them, and take our cues from them as to what is offensive, to them, so that we know what is hurtful, to them. In this case, after being told Jewish students are hurt by the macroaggressive chanting and screaming, “From the river to the sea,” with so many articles that pointed out how the phrase incites violence against Jewish people — College presidents went in front of congress to say, “It depends upon context.” Logic would dictate then that these heads of school believe that there is a context where it is alright to threaten to kill Jews — is that what they are saying? Does another common sign at protests, “Globalize the Intifada,” depend upon context? The Intifada being two campaigns of suicide bombings that killed thousands of Israelis. “Globalize the Intifada” means it’s alright to kill Jews anywhere. Why? Because it’s a “resistance” against evil. Who is evil? You and me.

So how do we approach the growing antisemitism in the United States: a 360% increase in antisemitic incidences in the first three months after Hamas attacked Israel. We are 2% of the United States yet consistently make up more than 50% of the hate crimes in this country. Jewish authors are having panels cancelled because a panelist doesn’t want to share the stage with a “Zionist.” Jewish medical students are being questioned as to whether they can ethically treat patients. Jews are being refused service in restaurants. Books supporting Hamas prominently displayed in bookstores. Swastikas and Stars, and upside down red arrows — a symbol of the massacre and Hamas, are painted on public buildings, Jewish establishments, and private homes, like the director of a museum in New York City. This is now.

Every element of the evil characterization of our people today has been seen before. I have page after sickening page of notes of heinous accusations going back literally thousands of years. But we don’t have to go back that far. My mother, who recently turned 94 (don’t tell her I told you that), spent the first 8 years of her life in Germany in the 1930s. When we were together in January I asked her if she ever imagined that the world would again feel like it did when she was a little girl... All I can tell you is she said she is fighting her lifelong optimism for the first time. Although her Rosh Hashanah card had a more hopeful tone, that I share with you because I believe in the message for us today — “Just as the caterpillar thinks it’s the end of the world, God turns it into a butterfly”

My entire life, and probably many of yours as well, has been during a period of great Jewish prosperity, as the Israeli writer Yossi Klein Halevi wrote (The Times of Israel blog),

The promise of the post-Holocaust era was that humanity, shamed into contrition, would finally be cured of its Jewish obsession.… The post-Holocaust era of the last eight decades was defined by optimism about the Jewish future.

Now we enter a post post-holocaust period, and it appears that our future is in danger from the same lies and conspiracies that plagued the Jewish people for over a thousand years. It is as if there has been one through line that has been true all along. Dara Horn, the author of “People Love Dead Jews,” wrote an article entitled, “October 7 Created a Permission Structure for Anti-Semitism.” She writes:

The through line of antisemitism for thousands of years has been the denial of truth and the promotion of lies... These lies are all part of the foundational big lie: that antisemitism itself is a righteous act of resistance against evil, because Jews are collectively evil and have no right to exist. Today, the big lie is winning.

The lies about our evil, about who we are and what we represent are a moving target. In April, Rabbi David Wolpe wrote:

Whatever you hate, you can transfer to the Jew. Today colonial-settlerism is the evil of choice, so Jews are colonial settlers. Nazism is a perennial hatred, so Jews are Nazis. If you hate communism, Jews are communists, if you hate capitalism, Jews are capitalists. You can hate Jews because they are weak and stateless or because they are strong and ethno-nationalists. Because they wear ‘regular clothes’ and blend in or because they wear long black coats and side curls and refuse to assimilate. Because they are subhuman (the Nazis called them ‘vermin’) and because they are superhumans who control the world. Because they are resolutely secular or stubbornly religious. Because they went like lambs to the slaughter or because they fight too vigorously. The image of the Jew shapeshifts as a dark psychic threat in the hater’s mind. The one thing the antisemite is sure of, however, whether marching at a Klan rally or just hanging out on campus: There is a good reason. They would NEVER hate Jews just because they are Jews.

It felt, maybe a decade ago, that the whole world was moving towards a more harmonious acceptance of our differences, and how our distinctive approaches to, and ideas about life can work together to make the world whole. Years ago, our entire staff trained in the concept of DEI, Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion. In our discussions, we did include our own experiences as a minority, but perhaps that was only because the meeting took place in a synagogue — and that it was, ironically, sponsored by the Jewish Federation. I say ironically because of what Horn writes:

DEI efforts are designed to combat the effects of social prejudice by insisting on equity: Some people in our society have too much power and too much privilege, and are overrepresented, so justice requires leveling the playing field. But antisemitism isn’t primarily a social prejudice. It is a conspiracy theory: the big lie that Jews are supervillains manipulating others. The righteous fight for justice therefore does not require protecting Jews as a vulnerable minority. Instead, it requires taking Jews down. This idea is tacitly endorsed by Jews’ bizarre exclusion from discussion in many DEI trainings and even policies, despite their high ranking in American hate-crime statistics. The premise, for instance, that Jews don’t experience bigotry because they are “white,” itself a fraught idea, would suggest that white LGBTQ people don’t experience bigotry either — a premise that no DEI policy would endorse (not to mention the fact that many Jews are not white).

Part of the issue inherent to antisemitism is the perceived danger in calling it out for what it is, because it can be misconstrued as a sign of assumed evil intent, of Jews attacking freedom of speech and principles of universal justice. Last week, a CBS journalist was reprimanded by his superiors because he asked this question to an author who wrote a book which was anti-Israel, “...you just don’t believe that Israel in any condition has a right to exist?” Asking an author that tough question was considered not up to journalistic editorial standards.

Horn writes about an April 2023 lecture she attended with historian David Nirenberg. He talked about an influential activist with a large following whose extreme rhetoric was met with accusations of antisemitism. Nirenberg said that the activist pointed out that antisemitism “was merely an accusation that Jews used to silence criticism and squash free speech.” He brought libel lawsuits against newspapers that accused him of antisemitism, and won them. Some make that same argument today. They may be disappointed to hear that the activist was named Adolf Hitler.

I guess I naively don’t understand why the loudest voices who scream about hate and violence receive amplification and enthusiasm for their destructive designs? It’s a great frustration. And on the other end of the spectrum, the non-voices can be just as painful. Bret Stephens recently wrote in an OpEd in the New York Times,

There are many Oct. 8 Jews: those who woke up a day after our greatest tragedy since the Holocaust to see how little empathy there was for us in many of the spaces and communities and institutions we thought we comfortably inhabited.

Stephens comes to three realizations: One: American Jews should not expect reciprocity. A second: “Zionist” has become just another word for Jew (when used pejoratively, I agree). And a third: This isn’t going to end anytime soon.

I realize how heavy and difficult to hear this subject is, so today, on Yom Kippur, I want to say I’m sorry. But just like Rabbi Alban, I believe that we are in the midst of a changing world, and I want to call your attention to the fact that this new world, so far, has not been hospitable to our people, and it is in a way that we’ve seen before, and we need to pay attention. Yes, I share her optimism that says out of this darkness will come a new day with light and color and something beautiful, like a butterfly. And I carry hope in my heart every day that the war will end, hostages will return, no more will die, and we can begin to help build this new world.

So, what can we do? I want us to have some practical, “I can do that,” suggestions to confront the antisemitism in the world. The first part is two questions Bret Stephens asks at the end of his article... Two questions to consider that have to do with how you will personally respond:

Are we going to be proud Jews or (mostly) indifferent ones? And if proud, what does that entail?

Of course, each of us will have to answer those questions for ourselves. It may seem obvious that I believe one of the best ways that we can fight antisemitism is to be proud of who we are, confident that our values align with what is right in the world. We can show our pride, as well as our compassion for life, by displaying a willingness to have difficult conversations with those who may not agree with us, but are agreeable to engage in open, positive, dialogue. At the same time, pride in who we are can allow us to stand up for ourselves when it’s necessary, confident that we know what Judaism and Am Yisrael stand for: justice, compassion, peace, and the wisdom of Torah through the generations.

The second set of suggestions comes from Bari Weiss, the founder of The Free Press, who wrote a book in 2019 called “How to Fight Antisemitism.” She identifies some ways to manage moments when you are confronted with antisemitism:

Trust your discomfort. Do not give your time and money to causes, institutions, nonprofits, or universities that condone antisemitism.

Call it out. The opposite response — to hold your tongue and “hope someone changes the subject” — has led to “a conspiracy of silence [that has taken] hold among too many Jews.”

Don’t trust people who seek to divide. Many antisemites try to separate “good” Jews (those who unequivocally denounce Israel) from “bad” Jews (i.e., those “evil genocidal Zionists”). You shouldn’t have to renounce your beliefs to pander to the haters.

Stop blaming yourself. Why do some of us believe that antisemitism is somehow our fault? Maybe, as Bar-Ilan University’s Ze’ev Maghen wrote,

Because that is what the world has told the Jews for so long. [But if] reasonable people do not blame rape victims for their choice of dress...we should not place ourselves in the position of beseeching our enemies to affirm that we are not, in fact, pigs.

Nurture your Jewish identity. Cultivating and strengthening your Jewish identity is “one of our most powerful weapons” against antisemitism.

One person can change history. When faced with uncertainty, we tend to believe that there’s nothing an individual can do. But history tells us otherwise. “If Churchill had not possessed his singular resolve, we might all be speaking German.”

THINGS YOU CAN DO AS YOU LIVE YOUR LIFE AND EXPERIENCE ANTISEMITISM:
Trust your discomfort, Call it out, Don’t trust people who seek to divide
Stop blaming yourself, Nurture your Jewish identity, One person can change history.

Lastly, I’d like to end with one of my favorite spiritual teachings from Nahman of Bretzlav, which in many ways describes this moment in the lives of the Jewish people today, even though it was written about 225 years ago. Kol HaOlam kulo, Gesher tzar me’od, v’ha’eekar lo l’hitfached clal, “All the world is a narrow bridge, but it is crucial not to make yourself afraid.” Nahman sensed that fear is a physical feeling based upon the mind’s anticipation of events. When we enter into situations where we feel we may be uncomfortable or scared, if we don’t then work ourselves up — that we will be scared, maybe we won’t be scared, or maybe less scared, so that we can have the courage to speak up, or to remain calm, or to reach out.…

So imagine navigating on this bridge that has two narrow pieces of wood for your feet, with ropes on the side, as rickety as you can get — that’s the world right now, bumpy and creaky, fragile and dangerous, it’s off balance and uncertain. Perhaps it would be better if we weren’t alone. It’s gonna be wobbly, but if we are all on that bridge together — all of us keeping the bridge steady, even if we lose balance, there is someone to lean on, someone to hold. Maybe Am Yisrael Chai means we are each other’s ropes, something that grounds us — even on a rickety bridge way above a raging river, to help convince each other that we’re OK, we don’t have to be afraid, and we will make it across.

The world right now is a very narrow bridge, but we’ll make it through, together.

That’s the power of Am Yisrael.

Am Yisrael Chai.

— Rabbi Jonathan Aaron, Temple Emanuel of Beverly Hills.

Communicated by Dr. Hagit Arieli Chai and reproduced with kind permission of Rabbi Jonathan Aaron.