This Week In Antisemitism: אף על פי כן / In Spite of It All

As I do periodically, I thought I might share with you my weekly email to my students at Babson College here in MA. Several of them privately shared their fears with me this week, as once again antisemitism made headlines. This time, it surfaced via the unapologetic voices of two the most famous people in the world—with two of the largest online followings in the world. If you read through to the end, please note my postscript that I’m adding for this blog. —Neal

Unfortunately, it was a rough week in the news for Jewish Americans. Because this week, anti-Jewish hatred reared its ugly, snarling head from two directions. 

The most famous entertainer in the world spewed an irrational, hate-filled tirade on a popular podcast and (of course) on Twitter, where he swore to go, um, “Deathcon 3” on “the Jews.” Simultaneously, the former President stoked antisemitism again when he claimed American Jews weren’t “grateful enough” for his past support of Israel and they should “get their act together” “before it’s too late.”  

The fact that both of these statements sound like threats of violence is bad enough for a community on edge. And the fact that both of these individuals have massive numbers of followers, some of whom belong to antisemitic blocs who might take these comments as dog whistles, is even worse.  

After all, the Jewish community has experienced a terrifying rise antisemitic assaults in the past few years—unprecedented in our lifetimes—to know that violent language unchecked inevitably leads to violent actions. Do we have to go over, once again, the list of the Jews who have been killed, the synagogues that have been attacked, and the Jewish institutions that have been vandalized?  

But what feels so awful this week is that the hatred has been so coarse and… old. Here's what I mean. 

Every minority group has a history of being victimized by bigots. And for each group, there is the coarsest, grossest sorts of stereotypes with which they’ve been slandered. Think about it for a minute, and you’ll know what I mean. 

So, the Jew-hatred that we’ve seen this week struck all the most ancient and archaic tropes. Kanye’s hate included: the Jews run Hollywood and the media; insidious Jewish power blocs will shut down anyone they disagree with; Jews are rich and their moneyed interests manipulate the world. These are the most disgusting and, well, clichéd forms of antisemitism, and it’s so sad that there is still a large and eager audience for them. 

What Kanye missed the former President picked up on. That’s the slander of “dual loyalty:” You must not be “real Americans,” because your secret loyalty lies elsewhere—namely, the State of Israel. Haven’t we all had enough of this man’s pathetic charges that if you’re not with him, you’re anti-America?  

Money. The media. The banks. Secret power. Dual loyalty. There’s nothing new here; it’s all the classic forms of anti-Jewish hate. And it was all thrown in our faces this week very publicly by very famous and influential people. 

So where do we go from here? Where do we find hope?  

As for me, I find hope in you. In the Jewish community, there is hope to be found whenever someone asserts their Jewish identity, embraces their heritage, and refuses to be afraid. The Torah emphasizes joy and love, and I’m determined not to let haters steal those things from us.

And outside the Jewish community, there is hope to be found whenever people stand united with each other against hate and say: we refuse to let others’ lies and slanders turn us against each other. Love and decency win out in the long run, even if they seem to get trounced in the short run.  

Earlier this week, an interfaith and multicultural group of students, faculty, and staff gathered beneath the Babson Globe to stand in solidarity and prayer, simply to bear witness to the pain and suffering in the world. It was very powerful, and I left the Peace Circle filled with hope and energy. 

I had the privilege of closing that gathering, and I shared the following words from the 19th century mystical master Rebbe Nachman of Bratzlav. (Bratzlav, by the way, is in besieged Ukraine.) These, too, are words of hope: 

וְדַע שֶׁהָאָדָם צָרִיךְ לַעֲבֹר עַל גֶּשֶׁר צַר מְאֹד מְאֹד
וְהַכְּלָל וְהָעִקָּר – שֶׁלֹּא יִתְפַּחֵד כְּלָל 

Know this: That each person must cross a very—very!—narrow bridge.
And the rule, the fundamental thing, is:  Not to be afraid. 

Shabbat Shalom, 

Neal 

That’s what I wrote to my students. Here, I’ll add that two other things happened to me this past week that also gave me hope, along the lines of the themes that I included in my final paragraphs above:

In the spirit of interfaith sharing, I felt lucky to be part of a discussion panel that met at First Parish Church in Weston, MA earlier this week. Each panelist - representing Jewish, Muslim, Christian, and Baha’i faiths - spoke on the theme of “Hope in Our Fractured World.” There were about 100 people in attendance. And it was quite lovely; a gathering of people of good faith, seeking a bit of common ground, understanding, and perspective from one another.

Second, there was Simchat Torah. And it occurs to me that in recent years, Simchat Torah could be subtitled, אף על פי כן / “In spite of it all…”. In other words, we know that there’s a lot of pain in the world, as institutions and protections and beliefs we took for granted sway precariously. And in spite of it all: This week, we took the Torah in our arms and danced and sang. At least, that’s what we did at the Walnut Street Minyan in Newton, MA. And it was beautiful and joyous, and filled with hope, as we bid the holiday season farewell, and prepared to face the winter that is coming…

A Very Short Note About Parashat Noach

This is from a weekly “Shabbat Shalom” notice that I sent out to my students at Babson College on Friday. Babson - for those who don’t know - is an entrepreneurial school located in Wellesley, MA (it’s consistently ranked the best business school for entrepreneurship in America, and I hope that helps explain the last line in the post about “future business leaders.”)

This week's Torah reading is Parashat Noach (Genesis 6:9-11:32), and it's the saga that so many of us learn when we're little kids: the story of Noah and the primeval Flood. But even though we learn this story when we're young, it's hardly a children's story.

The story of the Flood is actually Creation 2.0. It essentially teaches that G-d's first attempt at an ideal Creation goes terribly awry, so G-d wipes almost everything out and starts over with a new template. Noah, his family, and a small sample of life go out from the ark to repopulate the world that has been wiped clean.

At the culmination of the story, G-d puts a rainbow in the sky, as a "sign" to Noah and his descendants:

וְהָיְתָ֥ה הַקֶּ֖שֶׁת בֶּֽעָנָ֑ן וּרְאִיתִ֗יהָ לִזְכֹּר֙ בְּרִ֣ית עוֹלָ֔ם
 בֵּ֣ין אֱלֹהִ֔ים וּבֵין֙ כּל־נֶ֣פֶשׁ חַיָּ֔ה בְּכל־בָּשָׂ֖ר אֲשֶׁ֥ר עַל־הָאָֽרֶץ׃
When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant 
between G-d and all living creatures, all flesh that is on earth. (Genesis 9:16)

What is the significance of this "sign"? G-d essentially says: I'm not doing this again; this is the last planet that I'm giving you. I’m not going to destroy the earth again - you humans, however, might. 

It's one of those Torah passages that stunningly speaks to our own situation. The climate crisis is not a divinely ordained situation; it is purely the result of human obliviousness and corporate greed. And its solution, too, is given over to human hands.

There's a shocking modern midrash that speaks to this, asking: What do you imagine that Noah and his family saw when they first stepped out of the ark? Many of us, taught the story as children, picture that it's springtime: birdsongs fill the air; the sun is shining; animals are frolicking; all the strains of Vivaldi's "Four Seasons."  But the midrash imagines that Noah sees something quite different:  He sees corpses.

After the Flood, Noah opened the ark and looked out. He saw the earth desolate, forests and gardens uprooted, corpses visible everywhere. There was no grass, no vegetation; the world was a wasteland.

In pain and dismay, Noah cried out to G-d: “Ribbono shel Olam! In six days You made the earth. Now you have brought the work of Your hands to nought, uprooting all You planted, tearing down all You built. Why didn’t you show compassion for Your creatures?”

G-d said to Noah, "Excuse me? Now, after the destruction, You come to Me and complain?When you saw what was about to happen to the world, you thought only of yourself and your family, while everyone else died by the fire and the water!"

And Noah realized that he had sinned. 

The story of the Flood is fundamentally about this: You get one planet. You get to be either part of the solution - or you're precisely the problem. What could be a more timely message for us, and for every future business leader?

Image credit: R. Crumb, The Book of Genesis Illustrated (2009)

On the Anniversary of the Terrorist Attack in Pittsburgh

On the one-year anniversary of the Terrorist Attack at Tree of Life Synagogue in PIttsburgh, I sent this letter out to the Babson College community:

In Jewish tradition, which values memory so preciously, a yartzeit—the annual anniversary of a death—is a significant milestone. And in the next few days, we’re coming up on a significant yartzeit, as we mark one year since the massacre at the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh.

I’ll always remember where I was on October 27, 2018: in another synagogue, celebrating my cousin’s bar mitzvah in Chicago. I don’t carry a cell phone on Shabbat, but that morning before the service my aunt leaned over and showed me her screen, which already was carrying reports of the shooting in a Pittsburgh synagogue by a white nationalist. 

Do you remember how you felt that day? I recall all the conflicting emotions…

I remember feeling profound sorrow for people who were murdered simply for being Jews, doing Jewish things, celebrating Shabbat and the bris of a baby boy that morning, in a sacred space where they were supposed to utterly safe.

I recall the feelings of vulnerability and fear, and the questions that Pittsburgh raised: Just how safe are we as Jews here, really, in this land of so-called religious freedom? And the constant drumbeat of antisemitic attacks around the country in the past year hasn’t made those feelings dissipate.

And anger. Anger is a valid, human emotion; the biblical prophets were often enraged when they observed injustice and the abhorrent abuses of power all around them. I felt (and still feel) a lot of anger towards the perpetrators and enablers of hate, both before and after Pittsburgh. Not to mention the anger born of frustration when it seems, from a yartzeit’s perspective, that not so much has really changed when it comes to guns, racism and antisemitism, and the mentality of us-versus-them.

But I also recall some other feelings, such as a sense of unity and purpose. I recall the amazing outreach that came my way from my multifaith community of friends and colleagues. I remember standing in Glavin Chapel with Christian, Muslim, and Hindu neighbors, all sharing their sense of sorrow and compassion. It makes me realize that there are far more allies out there than there are enemies, and it’s nice to be reminded of that periodically.

Most of all, Pittsburgh reminds of how proud I am to be a Jew. To be a Jew is to be part of a family that is both ancient and modern; that has obligations [Mitzvot] to build lives of holiness; and that is called upon to be a perpetual voice of justice and peace. If that threatens hateful people, so be it; we’ve been there before.

It’s a sad time, to be sure, but that should make us more grateful than ever for being part of a dynamic and caring community that stands with one another.