The Marcy Avenue Armory is a historic military building taking up a full, valuable block in Williamsburg, New York. Originally built in 1883 to house and serve the military, the armory ended its official military era in 2011. Last week it was home to a different kind of army, that only comes together once every year. The army of Shluchot. The female Chabad emissaries scattered across the globe.
The first Democratic socialist in American politics
I remember growing up as a small boy living at 26th and Agnes in Kansas City, Missouri. In those days my buddies and I used to play basketball at the old Jewish Community Center on Linwood Boulevard. And there was a Democratic socialist in the White House. His name was Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
Love your enemies
In 1993, I took an anthropology class at KU, taught by Dr. Felix Moos, called “Violence and Terrorism.” Mid-semester he opened class by writing the following on the board:
Sunday night begins Tu b’Shevat (literally, “15th of Shevat”). In our tradition, Tu b’Shevat is the birthday of trees.
Now that seems so implausible, celebrating the “birth” of trees in February, when the average temperature is in the mid-40s. But it is.
Because in Israel — exactly at this time — the trees begin to awaken from their winter hibernation and start to bloom. All over Israel this coming week, almond trees will announce the start of spring by displaying the beautiful white and pink almond blossoms.
And our tradition celebrates this moment.
Why?
All one needs to do is to look at the changing weather patterns in our area and around the world — and note the effects such climate changes have already had on us — increased ferocity of hurricanes, of forest fires, of droughts, flooding, excessive heat ... we all know the litany of catastrophes that our planet suffers — and we are made painfully aware how fragile our environment is.
Judaism recognizes the precarious nature of humanity’s “stewardship” over the land — that balancing act between using the resources of this planet to grow our societies and the obligation to protect the planet for future generations. And today, with all the dire warnings how climate change — as a result of our human actions — is radically altering our planet and (therefore) our ability to sustain ourselves .. .maybe it is a good thing that we pause and consider the gifts that nature gives to us?
It is not by accident the rabbis talked about Tu b’Shevat being a “birthday” of the trees. Consider a birthday party. It is a day to celebrate an individual’s growth, to shower that person with love and affection, to help that individual feel appreciated, to let her or him know that s/he matters.
Maybe not a bad idea for us and our environment (represented by our “trees”): to spend a moment recognizing the importance that our world holds for our survival ... and our commitment to protect and “appreciate” it.
We are not in Israel. And this time of year our trees here are often covered with snow and ice and far from ready to bloom. But it is not too early to acknowledge our dependency on our environment and our need to protect it .. .to shower it with “love and affection”... on this birthday of our trees!
Rabbi Arthur Nemitoff is senior rabbi at The Temple, Congregation B’nai Jehudah.
The Holocaust is the systematic mass murder of European Jewry by the Nazis. The term Holocaust literally means a fire that causes total destruction .Yehuda Bauer, one of the world’s most eminent historians of the Holocaust, differentiates between the term genocide and Holocaust by defining the term genocide as partial murder .While there have been numerous instances of genocide, the total annihilation of a people was never an officially sanctioned purpose of a national government as it was in Nazi Germany. It is precisely this which differentiates the Nazi action against the Jews from other genocidal attempts against a people.
The Nazis wished to conquer the world and therefore threatened the very existence of every single Jew in the world. The principle target of the Nazis was always the Jews. Yes, it is true that as many as 50 million human beings were murdered by the Nazis and their collaborators. The Nazis destroyed the lives of Gypsies, homosexuals, the mentally disabled, Jehovah’s Witnesses, communists, socialists, trade unionists and religious opponents. But it was only the Jews who were singled out for the Final Solution.
The Jews, according to Hitler, were maggots, a virus that had to be eliminated. Hitler saw himself as the German Messiah doing God’s work by destroying the Jew. Let us not forget that all people with three or four Jewish grandparents were sentenced to death. Regarding the Polish population, there were no plans for total annihilation. Slavs were looked upon as being inferior Aryans; however Slovaks, Croats and Bulgarians were Slavs who served as German allies. It was only the Jew that Hitler and the Nazis considered to be like the Devil and therefore inhuman. In the Jew Hitler saw the image of Satan. According to Hitler it was only the Jew who wished to dominate the world, and it was the Jew Hitler wanted to destroy.
Hitler and the Nazis created a policy of selective mass murder against the homosexuals, Gypsies, Poles, Russians, prisoners of war, Catholic priests, Jehovah’s Witnesses’, the physically and mentally disabled, dissidents and others. But it was the Jew that was seen as a virus, a bacillus that had to be destroyed before it infected the entire world. It was the Jews who poisoned the mind of mankind. The policy of making the world Judenrein applied to the entire world. The group Hitler hated above all was the Jews. He made himself the supreme racist.
In his final hours, Hitler continued to urge the destruction of the Jew. Hitler had diverted trains and soldiers to concentration camps when he desperately needed them for the war effort. Germany was destroyed due to this mad man and at the end all he could think about was murdering more Jews.
This mad man was responsible for the murder of my grandparents, two siblings, uncles, aunts and cousins. My father, Jacob, of blessed memory, survived Auschwitz and my mother, Rachel, of blessed memory, survived Skazyskokarmiene. I became a rabbi to do everything in my power to prevent another Holocaust and to teach the world the lessons of the Holocaust. My fear is that after the death of the final Holocaust survivor and eventually the death of the children of Holocaust survivors, history will be rewritten and the Holocaust will no longer be a Jewish issue but rather a universal one. The number will no longer be the 6 million Jews but rather the 50 million casualties of war. Many still persist in saying there were 6 million Jews and 5 million non- Jews who were exterminated by the Nazis. We all should mourn and honor those who fought and died, Jew and non-Jew alike. However, let us never forget and always remember that it was the Jews who were the primary target of Hitler and the Nazi regime. The historian Bauer wrote; “Simon Wiesenthal, as he admitted to me in private, (invented the figure 6 million Jews and 5 million non-Jews) in order to create sympathy for the Jews — in order to make the non-Jews feel they are part of us.”
I was born in a displaced persons camp in Germany of Polish parents. I came to America as a refugee. I pray that the Holocaust and the memory of those who perished will be kept alive by our grandchildren and future generations. Let us not dilute the memory of the Holocaust by stressing Holocaust and genocide. While it is important to stress that we should never be innocent bystanders while others are murdered or discriminated against, we also should never dilute the singular significance of the Holocaust. I fear that 50 years from now the Holocaust will be forgotten and become only a date in history together with other genocides. I will do all I can now to prevent this. Another Holocaust can happen. We must be vigilant. If G-d forbid Israel were to lose one war that would be a Holocaust. Bauer said if it happened once, it can happen again.
I often write about the uniqueness of the Holocaust and state that the Holocaust is completely different from other genocides.
This position is controversial to some people. There are those who believe that the only way to preserve the memory of the Holocaust is by making it a universal lesson regarding the tribulations throughout the world.
Whether I am right or wrong, only our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren will know. Seventy-five years from when the last of the Holocaust survivors are gone I predict that regardless of Yad Vashem, the United States Memorial Holocaust Museum, and all the other museums and books, the memory of the Holocaust will not be preserved. It will be regarded as just another genocide in the history of genocides.
Unless we preserve the memory of the Holocaust and tie it to Jewish observance and ritual by including the Holocaust in prayer service or, as I have done, creating a Holocaust haggadah, the Holocaust will become a mere date in history. It has to be tied into a revitalized Judaism to keep it alive.
I for one, at this point in my life, no longer stress the pain, suffering and horrors of the Holocaust. Today I speak of the importance of learning about the heroic individuals who survived the Holocaust to make better lives for themselves and their families. Many Holocaust survivors have created synagogues, yeshivot and day schools and still support them financially.
We need to learn about those who resisted the Nazis, not only about the crematoriums. The memory of the Holocaust will be kept alive by future generations if we have pride in the accomplishments of the survivors and preserve Judaism.
‘Seventy-five years ago today, when Soviet troops entered these gates, they had no idea what lay behind them. And since that day, the entire world has struggled with what they found inside,’ said World Jewish Congress president Ronald S. Lauder.
Sunday night begins Tu b’Shevat (literally, “15th of Shevat”). In our tradition, Tu b’Shevat is the birthday of trees.
Now that seems so implausible, celebrating the “birth” of trees in February, when the average temperature is in the mid-40s. But it is.
Because in Israel — exactly at this time — the trees begin to awaken from their winter hibernation and start to bloom. All over Israel this coming week, almond trees will announce the start of spring by displaying the beautiful white and pink almond blossoms.
And our tradition celebrates this moment.
Why?
All one needs to do is to look at the changing weather patterns in our area and around the world — and note the effects such climate changes have already had on us — increased ferocity of hurricanes, of forest fires, of droughts, flooding, excessive heat ... we all know the litany of catastrophes that our planet suffers — and we are made painfully aware how fragile our environment is.
Judaism recognizes the precarious nature of humanity’s “stewardship” over the land — that balancing act between using the resources of this planet to grow our societies and the obligation to protect the planet for future generations. And today, with all the dire warnings how climate change — as a result of our human actions — is radically altering our planet and (therefore) our ability to sustain ourselves .. .maybe it is a good thing that we pause and consider the gifts that nature gives to us?
It is not by accident the rabbis talked about Tu b’Shevat being a “birthday” of the trees. Consider a birthday party. It is a day to celebrate an individual’s growth, to shower that person with love and affection, to help that individual feel appreciated, to let her or him know that s/he matters.
Maybe not a bad idea for us and our environment (represented by our “trees”): to spend a moment recognizing the importance that our world holds for our survival ... and our commitment to protect and “appreciate” it.
We are not in Israel. And this time of year our trees here are often covered with snow and ice and far from ready to bloom. But it is not too early to acknowledge our dependency on our environment and our need to protect it .. .to shower it with “love and affection”... on this birthday of our trees!
Rabbi Dr. Bernhard Rosenberg was raised in Kansas City, Missouri.
Rabbinical Association responds
to recent anti-Semitic attacks
The Rabbinical Association of Greater Kansas City shares in the sadness and concern of Jews everywhere over recent anti-Semitic attacks, and the alarming proliferation of attacks against Jews over recent years. This is not just a crisis for our Jewish community, but for our country as well. Attacks on Jews are attacks on our country’s most cherished democratic values.
While we acknowledge the fear felt in our congregations and our communities, providing our support wherever it is needed, we also stand determined to not allow fear to change who we are as proud Jews. We carry that Hanukkah message with us throughout the year, and for the years and generations to come.
Our support for any Jews who come under attack is without denominational boundaries. An attack against one Jew is an attack against all of us.
May there soon come a time when peace and mutual respect will prevail, and any and all violence will cease. May that be G-d’s Will.
The Rabbinical Association of Greater Kansas City
Rabbi Doug Alpert, Congregation Kol Ami
Rabbi Javier Cattapan, Congregation Beth Torah
Rabbi Stuart Davis, Temple Sinai
Rabbi David Glickman, Congregation Beth Shalom
Rabbi Moshe Grussgott, Kehilath Israel Synagogue
Rabbi Jon Kleinman, Chaplain, Vitas Healthcare
Rabbi Monica Kleinman, Congregation Beth Torah
Rabbi Josh Leighton, Congregation B’nai Jehudah
Rabbi Mark Levin, Founding Rabbi, Congregation Beth Torah
Rabbi Alan Londy, New Reform Temple
Rabbi Herbert Mandl, Rabbi Emeritus, Kehilath Israel Synagogue
Rabbi Yitzchak Mizrahi, Beth Israel Abraham & Voliner
Rabbi Arthur Nemitoff, Congregation B’nai Jehudah
Rabbi Beryl Padorr, Congregation Ohev Sholom
Rabbi Jonathan Rudnick, Community Chaplain
Rabbi Neal Schuster, KU Hillel
Rabbi Sarah Smiley, Congregation B’nai Jehudah
Rabbi Linda K. Steigman, Temple Adath Joseph, St. Joseph
Rabbi Debbie Stiel, Temple Beth Sholom, Topeka
Rabbi Avi Weinstein, Hyman Brand Hebrew Academy
Rabbi Scott White, Former rabbi, Congregation Ohev Sholom
Beyond comprehension
Some things are beyond comprehension. Among these are the letter from Rabbi Mark Levin in the Dec. 26, 2019, edition of The Chronicle and the letter in last week’s issue supporting him.
President Trump is issuing an executive order directing the Department of Education to consider whether incidents of harassment or discrimination on university campuses are motivated by anti-Semitism, and to withhold government funds if this is the case. Rabbi Levin and his supporter demur. Rabbi Levin states that Jews are not protected under Title VI of the Civil Rights Act. He could not be more wrong. Both the Bush and Obama administrations pronounced that Jews are a protected group under Title VI. Why would any Jew oppose this?
To attempt to justify his bizarre conclusion, the rabbi proclaims “the false concept of race.” Wow, he’s solved the race problem, single handedly! If race is a false concept, racism is impossible. How can there be racism if there aren’t any races? He also states that the problem on college campuses must be fought with ideas, by faculty teaching, by the university administration making clear that anti-Semitism will not be tolerated. That is incredibly naive. It is precisely these faculties and university administrations that are in the forefront of promoting anti-Israel, anti-Semitic, and pro-BDS activity.
The rabbi’s ally finds it impossible to believe that President Trump is a friend of the Jews. This is very odd considering Trump, in addition to his executive order, has moved the American embassy to Jerusalem, recognized Israel’s sovereignty over the Golan Heights, recognized the legality of settlements in the Jordan Valley and imposed additional sanctions on Hezbollah.
Elsewhere, Trump has been denounced as an anti-Semite. Very strange behavior for an anti-Semite. Very strange behavior for one who is not a friend of Israel and the Jews.
What this all boils down to is that there are individuals so consumed with hatred of Trump they will never grant him credit for anything, and will advocate any convoluted twist of reasoning, no matter how weird, to denounce anything he does.
Lee Levin
Leawood, Kansas
Another take on the Israel-Palestinian conflict
Arabs continue to harass and murder Israelis despite the many losses they incurred as Israel defends itself. Israel has fought defense wars and terrorism even before statehood. Israel has been rejected as a Jewish state by Arab Palestinians, a position that is the root cause of the conflict. After the war of independence, the Six-Day War and the Yom Kipper war, Israel offered peace proposals, and each have been rejected.
Both Prime Ministers Barack (2000) and Olmert (2008) proposed withdrawal from over 90% of the West Bank settlements and agreed to have East Jerusalem as the capital of a Palestinian state. These generous proposals were rejected, and riots and terrorism were resumed. Why? Many will not agree with me, but I am among those that believe that the Palestinians want the Jews to disappear or accept being a minority, ending the existence of the Jewish State of Israel. Going back to the beginning of the 1947 partition plan of the United Nations, both Jews and Palestinians were each offered their own state, Jews accepted but Palestinians and Arab states rejected the U.N. proposal and went to war intent on strangling the newly reborn state. They still have that ambition.
Arab Israelis now number nearly 2 million. That is the largest number of Arabs that ever lived in pre-state or the current State of Israel. Recent polls revealed that 77% would choose to remain in Israel should there ever be a separate Palestinian state. This makes negotiations complicated.
So, what about a two- state solution? The U.S. Congress has reaffirmed that it favors a two-state solution to the Israel-Palestinian conflict. The Arab Palestinians repeatedly have stated that their goal was to have only one state that they will dominate and eliminate the Jewish state. With their refusal to return to the negotiating table, how is a two-state solution to be achieved? And what about Gaza? Hamas has sworn to destroy Israel. It has fired hundreds of rockets and fire balloons into Israel. It has targeted the city of Sderot whose residents are pleading to the government for more action against Hamas. What more can Israel do to protect its citizens?
With all the above is a two-state solution possible? For now, the answer is no. It has been stated that the resolution of the conflict will have to wait for new leadership. There can be no guarantee that even then peace between these two parties will be achieved. The status quo will exist until Israel is recognized and accepted as a Jewish state by its adversaries.
Sol Koenigsberg
Overland Park, Kansas
This past Hanukkah was framed by the horrific shooting at the kosher market in Jersey City and the machete attack in the home of a rabbi’s Hanukkah party in Monsey, New York.
Because of the attack at the Jewish Community Campus here in Overland Park several years ago as well as this year’s synagogue shootings, my congregants (as in many synagogues and temples here in Kansas City) have expressed security concerns about our Jewish buildings. Like the other synagogues, temples and Campus, we have upgraded our building’s security significantly.
I have not heard, however, a fear of physical violence on individual Jewish persons. I think that this comes from the fact that the vast majority of non-Orthodox Jews do not choose any distinctive Jewish manner of dress aside from the occasional T-shirt with Hebrew. In short: most of us can pass. It’s not that we hide from our Jewish identity, or shy away from discussing Jewish subjects. To an outsider looking at most of us in a mall, grocery store, or the park, it is rare that someone would say: “There goes a Jew.”
The same cannot be said of our ultra-Orthodox or Haredi brethren. Ultra-Orthodox are visible as Jews every place: whether traveling, shopping or working. With the exception of “local Chabad rabbis” in every hamlet of today’s America, it is not uncommon for a non-Orthodox Jew to have never had a real friendship or relationship with a Haredi Jew.
For the most part, we don’t live in the same towns. We don’t go to the same schools. We don’t shop in the same stores.
To one another, we are often other.
The interesting contrast is the way that the non-Orthodox Jewish community has embraced the non-Jewish religious communities. For the purposes of supporting Israel, the modern and centrist Orthodox communities have also embraced some Christian communities. While we can always do better, the non-Orthodox movements have built strong and robust relationships with our Christian and Muslim communities.
At synagogues and temples throughout our community we see regular interaction between a Jewish religious community and a Christian or Muslim religious community. Sometimes, the interactions are tours or visits to one another’s houses of worship. Sometimes, they are social dinners to simply create organic, human bonds between disparate faith communities. We also see deep collaboration on a local and national level on a variety of public policy issues, justice issues, or scripture-based dialogue.
But rarely do we see these kinds of interactions between ultra-Orthodox Jews and non-Orthodox Jews in any formal capacity. When was the last time you saw a Reform or Conservative synagogue advertising a program titled “Hang out with a Hasid?”
True, we don’t see the near violent animus between Jews as there was in the beginning of the Hasidic movement and the Jewish enlightenment movements (the Haskalah) three centuries ago. Nor do we see the awful as we do in Israel — often over control over the policies of the State. By and large in America, we exist in two separate, parallel worlds.
True, there are very significant and meaningful differences between the ultra-Orthodox and non-Orthodox worlds that should not be papered over. These go far deeper than dress and neighborhood, but into the ways we interpret scripture, the role of women in our communities, and the overall acceptance of Western values.
Additionally, there is a long history of ultra-Orthodox rabbis not permitting their rabbis to formally work in partnership with non-Orthodox rabbis. For some, it is forbidden to even enter a non-Orthodox synagogue.
Within non-Orthodox communities I am sure that there is also subconscious messaging where we may telegraph to our communities to not go into their places of worship or community.
However, if we think about it, there are also huge chasms between ourselves and non-Jewish groups. And yet, we find ways to create partnerships. Might there be Christian groups we partner with on domestic social issues who also support the BDS movement? Might there be individual Muslims in our interfaith programs who don’t believe in the legitimacy of a Jewish state? Might there be Christian groups with whom we find common cause on Israel, but also think Jews are damned without accepting Christianity? Despite this, we find ways of building friendships and allies.
Could the views of the ultra-Orthodox be so much more offensive?
The Hanukkah attacks provoked universal condemnation. The fact is, though, all of 2019 has been peppered with anti-Semitic incidents against the ultra-Orthodox. These attacks were negligible topics of conversation amongst the non-Orthodox until Hanukkah.
The response of the impressive march last Sunday in New York was inspiring. However, it was also apparent that there were few ultra-Orthodox in the crowd numbering more than 25,000 marching. (In another observation: There were also virtually no non-Orthodox at the 90,000 person crowd celebrating the completion of the Talmud at MetLife Stadium just days earlier).
To the degree that these attacks did not register on our personal radars prior to Hanukkah, we need to ask ourselves: why not?
The most profound question of the Torah is HaShomer Achi Anochi? “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
In our approach toward the non-Jewish world, we have spent so much of the 70 years since the Shoah answering this question with a resounding: “Yes!” We have done an incredible job of bringing ourselves to see religious communities unlike our own as our brothers and our sisters.
This has come from the hard work of many individuals, organizations and denominations both inside and outside the Jewish community. But why do we only work at this with our non-Jewish neighbors, why not each other?
What would it look like to have the same desire to build intra-faith relations as inter-faith relations?
When I participate in multi-denominational initiatives, I am usually with Jewish leaders who are fairly close to me philosophically. What would it mean to work to build real relationships across profound philosophical chasms?
Can we afford not to? Is it impossible to find any opportunities to build actual ally-ship and friendship? Can we afford to view an entire segment of the Jewish world as other instead of brother?
Rabbi David M. Glickman is senior rabbi of Congregation Beth Shalom.
In September of 2015, my work took me to the New York area as the Kansas City Royals prepared to play Game 5 of the World Series against the New York Mets at Citi Field in Flushing Meadows–Corona Park.
The Royals were ahead in the series 3-1, and I realized that this game could be THE game — the one in which the boys in blue would finally become the World Champions for the first time since 1985. With some help from StubHub, I was able to find an affordable last minute ticket, and so, proudly donning my KC cap, I hopped on a train from Manhattan with just about 90 minutes to go before game time.
As the train got closer to its destination, I found myself treading water in a sea of blue and orange wall-to-wall Mets fans. At one point, I made eye-contact with one of them, sitting about 20 feet away, toward one end of the subway car. He starred and pointed. I stood like a deer in oncoming headlights — nowhere to go, no time to avoid what was coming next.
“Look at what we have over here,” he yelped, so that everyone could hear. All eyes looked my way, accompanied by a kind of spontaneous escalating vocalization that sounded like a shoddy chorus of singers groaning an entire octave of notes, from low to high, increasing in volume as they increased in pitch.
“A Royals fan on our train! What the f**k?” I heard coming from over my shoulder. To say I was scared would be an understatement. The train was moving fast, no expectation that it would make a stop anytime soon.
“So, who’s gonna win the World Series?” asked the one who had outed me to the rancorous crowd. In that moment I thought that if I told them what they wanted to hear, what kind of Royals fan would that make me? And if I told them what I thought, I imagined an underground lynching might have quickly ensued.
“It’s gonna be close,” I offered, hoping that was ambiguous enough for him and the others. It seemed to work. They took it to mean that I still thought those Mets had a fighting chance (which I secretly did not for a minute believe).
Just when I thought it was behind me, the same guy walks across the car and asks me, “So where you from, Kansas City?”
Feeling empowered by my earlier verbal victory, I decided I was on a roll, and told the truth. “Well, I used to live there, but now I live in Israel.”
As the words “I live in Israel” rolled off my tongue, I kicked myself for such hubris. What was I thinking? Why did I feel the need to wear my proud Zionism on my sleeve and risk yet another round of “us versus them?”
I was prepared for the worst, when the tall, loud NY fan put his hand on my shoulder, smiled and looked me in the eye. “You Jewish? I’m Jewish too.”
Wow. In those few minutes, a lot had transpired. The two of us were just two minutes ago anonymous adversaries, two men whose paths had never before crossed, and yet, by dint of our sports allegiances, were mutually suspected arch-enemies. There was a palpable resentment bordering on hatred brewing between us — or to be more exact, between me and a packed subway car full of my nemeses. A shrewd answer on my part had avoided conflict. Risking another round of “us versus them,” I had shown my hand, revealed my ancestry, offering information that I could just as easily have kept to myself, tempting fate almost irrationally.
Instead, in that split-second questionable decision, I had actually succeeded in completely quashing the “us versus them” vibe between us, converting it into a “just us,” or “we’re on the same side” dynamic that led to another 20 minutes of Jewish geography and Hebrew schools reminiscences.
We arrived at the stadium. Still tripping as I was on the amazing turnaround of that train ride, and before climbing the steep stairs way up to my “cheap” seat, I decided to make a stop at one of Major League Baseball’s only kosher hot dog stands. The line was uncompassionate in its length and snail pace, but I was looking forward to that feeling of being again with “us,” standing on line with “my people.”
In a matter of a seconds, however, I realized that as the only KC fan in that long line, I was about to become the “them” for all of these hungry, anxious, trailing 1-3 kosher-observant Jewish Mets fans. Quite the opposite of many Orthodox Jewish travelers today, I contemplated taking off my baseball cap, and revealing my knit kippah! Looking around, I could see the people checking me out, wondering how this poor KC fan managed to get into the wrong hot dog line. (Of course, their natural animosity toward me made them incapable of even suggesting I might be in the wrong line and pointing me in the right direction for a short-line treif hot dog.) I was once again “the other,” and if I did keep kosher, maybe even suspected of treason!
Just then, I looked around and saw behind me in line — lo and behold — another kosher KC cap wearer! Of course, standing there in the depths of New York, my first thought was, “this poor KC fan is standing in the wrong line, I should tell him.” However, upon closer examination, I realized that I knew the guy — he had grown up in the KC synagogue where I had served as rabbi in the 1990s. I left the line to gladly take my place again about 10 people back from where I was, considering that a small price to pay to once again feel a part of “us,” rather than “them.”
Psychologists speak of the “us versus them” phenomenon in human existence. It is a primal instinct, a carry-over from back in the day when human survival was tied into tribal unity. Those not immediately identifiable as members of the tribe — those who looked different, or dressed differently were de facto suspects, until proven otherwise, the result of a built-in human defense mechanism that served to protect individuals and their tribes from the “others,” those people whose otherness made them potential threats to my clan’s existence.
They say that this behavior is a natural human survival instinct, an instinct that can never be completely eradicated, no different than fear of the dark. The only way to neutralize the instinct is to take the risk of getting to know the individual before you, finding out that s/he is actually as much or even more a part of “us” than “them.”
Judaism in its expression — by ritual, by dress, by language and by worldview — defacto turns its followers into “the other.” In a climate where people are inclined to first get to know you, before casting judgment, these differences are not threatening — they might even be considered enriching or interesting! However, in a climate of polarization, where everything is about drawing lines and defining people based on their political positions, and labeling them with denigrating names — in such a climate, anti-Semitism is bound to flourish.
When people are empowered to activate their tribal impulses and refuse to speak with those who don’t see the world as they do — in such a world, anti-Semitism will flourish, no matter what rights are guaranteed by the legal system wherein Jews are living. For Jews have, since the time of the biblical Gentile prophet Bilaam and before, been perceived as “a people who live apart and do not consider themselves one of the nations.” (Numbers 23:9)
Rabbi Morey Schwartz is the international director of the Florence Melton School of Adult Jewish Learning and the former rabbi of Congregation BIAV.
