Hello, friends.
Last weekend's events at a synagogue in Texas--when an armed assailant took four people hostage, including the rabbi--were horrifying. I am so, so grateful that the hostages were able to survive the ordeal,
but their healing and hurting--and that of everyone in the Jewish community--may
never fully end. As a Jewish person, hearing that once again we were under attack, in a synagogue, on Shabbat, a holy day, was horrific. The fact that only the evening before I too had helped lead services for Shabbat in a synagogue, or that the rabbi in Texas is young and from a liberal movement like me, only heightened the reality we live with every day: people on this planet target each other for many, many reasons, especially those who are different from themselves, and seek to kill them.
They hate us. They seek to kill Jews; they seek to kill me.
I do not often focus in my mind on hatred against the Jewish people, because I know how many people on this planet are targeted for all sorts of reasons--for their religion, ethnicity, skin color, sexuality, gender expression, and more. I almost feel guilty complaining. It feels like there is no place for me to say, as someone who has been fortunate in being spared the worst of what could happen to me in terms of prejudice and attack, that I am Jewish and I am threatened.
But I am Jewish, and there are people who would attack, hate, kill me just for that fact. I refuse to give in to the comparisons of who has it worse, which group of people suffers more, or whose relative privilege affects where on the scale something so horrific falls, something that in 2022 we should not even be dealing with anymore. There is room for all of us to acknowledge the suffering against so many people and groups, and resolve to do better for us all. Today I focus on Jews, where so many other days I focus on every other group, because it matters that I am Jewish and have to face this.
You may not know quite how extensive and lengthy the history of antisemitism on this planet is. For thousands of years, people have found reasons to hate us. I am not exaggerating--any history of Judaism is a painful one to read, and I strongly encourage you, whether you are Jewish or otherwise, to study it. There are the obvious displays of physical violence, like the pogroms and the Shoah, and then there are the subtle ways that antisemitism has come out over time that often lead to those violent episodes: comments about our noses or about money, all just seeking to cast us as the other; religious accusations against us by people of many religions; assumptions that Jews control all kinds of things; and now often comments about Israel that are antisemitic (of course, not all are--but many are). All excuses to hate us. It is not okay, and we all need to do better.
I cried at the gym one day this past week when I tried to watch a recent episode of my favorite show, Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, because the episode opened with people attacking Jews and other religious minorities, literally throwing bricks through the window of the fictional synagogue (absolutely important things to show; poor timing because of Texas, and something I would have appreciated warning about). This clergy career path is one for which I now understand I should have active shooter training, as articulated in an important security webinar that more than 800 people in the Jewish community attended on Thursday. How tragic--how realistic.
I have long said that European synagogues (the
comparatively few that still exist and operate today) have such a high
level of security, and it might only be a matter of time before we too
heavily question people at the doors of our U.S. synagogues (which
happened to me in Barcelona and Rome), or require attendees to send
passport information ahead of attending services (which happened to me
in London). Imagine here in the U.S., needing to literally reach out to a
church ahead of time to share your passport information be allowed to
attend. More than sad, I am resolved about this possible future reality,
but that doesn't mean we can give up on making it better.
So where do we go from here? When the world feels hard and overwhelming, where is the hope? The hope is in each other. The hope is in reaching out even when we are scared and hurting.
For those who are other than Jewish and want to stand in solidarity with the Jewish community in this moment of pain and difficulty, I lovingly offer these suggestions:
--Check in on your friends who are Jewish. Recognize that this always-present antisemitism and violence against us is not something that goes away, it just flares up more obviously at different times. The trauma of living with it is in our bones, so know also that this is not just something that we are temporarily upset about and will get over. We also know it will happen again.
--Speak up when someone says something problematic about Jewish people in front of you, no matter how subtle and no matter who says it. This includes comments that perpetuate stereotypes (yes, that means fighting back when people joke about Jews being cheap, even if it's Jews doing the joking) or even someone using a phrase like "Grammar Nazi" casually. I often find asking a question to challenge someone's thinking is an easier way into the conversation (for example, "What's wrong with having a big nose?" might make someone pause). I try to assume good intent in all situations, that the person is not aware why their language is problematic, which I feel has a better chance for me to stay in relationship with that person even while I address the issue.
--Educate yourself on the history of antisemitism. We can all always learn more about this. Here is a starting place from the Anti-Defamation League (the ADL). Read about the dreadful Protocols of the Elders of Zion, an antisemitic fabrication that has been used for over a century to incite hatred against Jews (yes, even today, especially by those who deny the Holocaust happened), and if you have access to a university library (because I suspect they're hard to get a copy of at least in the U.S., which is good), read the Protocols yourself so you can see just what many people believe about the Jewish community.
--Be extremely careful when you speak about Israel and Palestine. If you're anything like me, you also care about a just future for all people. I spent my year living in Jerusalem involved a great deal of time with people with very divergent perspectives, working to build better relations and figure out solutions. We must and should talk about Israel and Palestine, but for many Jewish people, Israel is inherently a hopeful place--a place of refuge from the hate of the world, the hate we saw just last Shabbat, a place with the potential to be a holy place for all people. The fact that it is not currently is indisputable. But very understandable criticism of Israel often crosses into the territory of excuses and prejudice. Denying that Jewish people have a right to live in safety, suggesting Jewish Israelis should die for living in that land or it's okay that they do, ignoring the fact that there are many people in Israel working to protect all of those in society, even and especially the Palestinian people, is not okay. Let us work for peace, not celebrate pain and fighting and death. Please remember nuance and be careful in how you speak, and try to ask questions rather than make assumptions. So often the assumptions made about Israel and Jewish Israelis can contribute to the lengthy history of antisemitism to which I reference here. I know people often do not realize how harmful their words are, or that their comments are inherently antisemitic. I am a willing partner to discuss these types of complicated issues.
This is the real interfaith work, and you can all join me in it, in your daily lives.
In return, here are my commitments to this work in combating antisemitism and all forms of hate:
--I commit to remaining in these conversations, even when it's hard (like last May, when interfaith dialogue felt impossible).
--I commit to not giving up the hope that that we can create a future that is different and better than the thousands of years of antisemitism we have behind us.
--I commit to continuing to do interfaith dialogue, because I believe that this--true dialogue, where we form relationships over time, interact informally and formally, sit together in easy times and hard, and eventually with great care have difficult discussions, such as those around Israel and Palestine--is a major way for us to make that better world. But I can't do it alone. Will you join me?
Now go out and love one another.
<3,
Allyson
