I would often half-jokingly tell my children that it’s good that Hashem made me a Jew, or I would have been the worst anti-Semite around. I also told them it’s good Hashem made me a rabbi, or I would have been a horrible rabbi critic.
Although this was naturally said in jest, underneath it all there may be some truth to those statements. Honestly, in retirement from the rabbinate, I am a much more tolerant “baal habus” (layman) than I thought I’d be. But that’s largely because my rabbi here in Baltimore is beyond reproach. What I totally admire about him is that he is the genuine article. Not an ounce of hubris or of any kind of agenda other than doing what’s right for the spiritual and physical growth of the community.
As for the anti-Semitism – of course I love Jews. I have and will continue to fight for Jewish interests if Hashem gives me the strength. But I admit, when I see or hear about Jews misbehaving in any manner, I tend to cringe. I wonder how we as a people could do such a thing. I am sure you do, too.
I remember years ago, when I would commute from Port Authority in New York to Lakewood, there were often snaking lines to get on the bus, due to some backup in the terminal. One time, I came upon a longer than usual line and I heard a whole commotion ahead of me. It wasn’t until I boarded the bus that I found out what the commotion was all about. In one of the front rows, there was a young man with pei’os, whom I never saw before or since, sitting in a window seat with a paper bag leaking something on the seat next to him. As he saw me pass down the aisle, he lifted his bag and motioned me to sit next to him, which I did.
Since he was among the earlier boarders, I asked him if he knew what the noise was all about.
“Sure!” he told me. “I saw there was this huge line, so I cut to the front. They started screaming at me like maniacs. So, I’m asking you, he said, “Why are they more upset with me than with murderers? There’s only one answer: anti-Semites!”
This story is probably 40 years old, but I still cringe when I think about it. How could a Jew behave this way?
Then I had a separate story with me around that time. I was exiting a supermarket in Lakewood, and I let the door close behind me. I was not aware that there was a woman and her young son following me, so the door swung closed on her.
Within earshot, I heard the lady say to her son, “See, this is the way we separate Jews from gentiles. Gentiles always hold the door for the person behind them.”
I wasn’t quick enough on my feet, but what I thought of telling her a moment later is that she is wrong. What separates us is that we Jews don’t teach our kids to hate.
To this day, every time I exit a supermarket, that story comes to mind. Since then, I am extra careful to see that no one is behind me. What is interesting is that my sense of shame is not about her and her despicable message to her child, but about me – my possibly having caused a chilul Hashem, bringing dishonor to Hashem’s name.
This attitude that I am constantly feeling guilty as someone who will not get approval from others for any type of misbehavior is uniquely Jewish. Have you heard of a person from any other religion or ethnic group that takes the misbehavior of a co-religionist or co-ethnicity personally?
The natural reason we do is because, as religious Jews, we all feel responsible as “Hashem’s children” to bring credit and not shame to His name. But there is something more.
Knowing that we are different, we feel a bit embarrassed by our non-acceptance in the world. We have a hard time dealing with the fact that no matter how much we try to do good for other less fortunate people in this world, we get nothing but hatred in return. The current war in Gaza is a classic case of getting scorn and hatred in return for our generosity. The despicable anti-Semitism coming from some of the ethnicities we fought for with all our money and soul is extremely disheartening, to say the least. This leads many to betray our own people, as though to gain favor in everyone else’s eyes.
This treacherous behavior among Jews is not new. We find the two informers, Dathan and Aviram, on Moshe in the very beginning of Sh’mos (see Rashi 2:13). Throughout the generations, there have been traitors and collaborators. There have been too many movements over the years that have run contrary to our religion and our interests. Too many of us feel itchy about our Jewishness. Indeed, that is what gave way to the Reform movement, who insisted on being referred to as “Germans of the Mosaic persuasion.”
To bring this home, we have many Jews today who are some of our bitterest enemies. George Soros and Bernie Sanders come quickly to mind. And then you have milder self-haters who will take either no stand or dabble with dangerous stands when it comes to battling for Jewish causes and interests. Although by now we know them all, too many Jewish politicians and organizations are in that mix.
Think about it. Name one Jewish politician who has fought loud and clear for the pro-Israel cause. I don’t mean in Congressional or New York State Legislature votes; I mean in the public arena.
Vocal supporters like Ted Cruz, Richard Torres, Marco Rubio, Elise Stefanik, Nikki Haley, Brian Mast, and the courageous John Fetterman, plus a handful of others, are all not Jewish. We are forever grateful to them. But why are we not hearing from our Jewish representatives with equal vigor?
As I openly confessed, I too suffer from this “Don’t act too Jewish” syndrome. Yet we must train ourselves to overcome our paranoia and demand of ourselves as we do of others to be as loud as we can (but don’t do anything embarrassing) in fighting for Israel and Jewish causes.
Rabbi Yoel Schonfeld is the Rabbi Emeritus of the Young Israel of Kew Gardens Hills, President of the Coalition for Jewish Values, former President of the Vaad Harabonim of Queens, and the Rabbinic Consultant for the Queens Jewish Link.
