Far From Home

What anti-Semitism means to me

A sense of loneliness and isolation. These have become recurring experiences articulated by Jews across various platforms of late. An article in Time magazine noted the sparse attendance of non-Jews at a London vigil for victims of the terror attacks compared to the thousands who marched supporting Palestine. Combined with the genocidal chants at Pro-Palestinian rallies and an alarming uptick in anti-Semitic incidents, many of us face a gut wrenching disconnection from the larger community

Where is this current feeling of alienation stemming from? When considering anti-Semitism, we often envision crude skinhead thugs. But what makes our present abandonment all the more disturbing is its pervasive acceptance among society's highest strata. Those entrusted with educating the public have turned ominously silent amid a backdrop of atrocities against the Jewish people. Once-fierce opponents of oppression had nothing to share as our people were massacred in cold blood. Beyond mere apathy, many on campus indulged in base scapegoating, aggressively blaming Israel for all unrest while turning a blind eye to the actual perpetrators of atrocities. It didn’t even seem to matter that supporting Hamas might be a weird look for aspiring corporate lawyers and bankers. In the wake of Jewish families' barbarous slaughter, enlightened elites decided to pin Hamas' guilt on their victims.

The ancient scourge of anti-Semitism has persisted through millennia, enduring even as civilisations and ideologies evolved. Academics speculate on its socioeconomic and political causes. In contrast, the Torah and its sages describe Jew-hatred as a metaphysical truth, an ongoing trial for the Hebrew people until redemption. I can't offer any direct insight concerning the current surge in anti-Semitism. Still, I would like to reflect on its personal impact, hoping that aspects of my experience may resonate with others.

There is a famously cryptic midrash that describes Avraham's discovery of God:

"Hashem said to Abram: Go forth from your native land . . ." Rabbi Isaac said: This may be compared to a man who travelled from place to place when he saw a birah dolekes. 'Is it possible that this palace lacks a caretaker?' he wondered. The palace owner looked out and said, 'I am the owner of the palace.' Similarly, because our ancestor Abraham said, 'Is it possible that the world lacks a caretaker?' the Blessed Holy One looked out and said to him, 'I am the Sovereign of the Universe.'

{Bereishis Rabah 12:1}

The interpretation of this parable hinges upon an ambiguous term: birah dolekes. Commonly rendered as "a palace full of light," this reading suggests Avraham observed the intricately complex world around him and concluded there was a Creator. However, birah dolekes may also refer to "a palace in flames." Perhaps Avraham came across a burning edifice, perceiving the world as engulfed in chaos and evil. Amidst the inferno, God's response to Avraham's question suggests that, even during unspeakable horror, one can still discern life's fundamental questions. Avraham was thus capable of transcending passing terrors and thereby discovering hidden knowledge.

At first glance, it seems counterintuitive that devastation enables awareness of God. But in an essay reflecting on the Holocaust, Rav Eliyahu Dessler offers profound insight. He invokes the metaphor of a child who grieves the loss of a toy ship. An adult recognises the scenario was merely a game - the ship was not real. In contrast, when wealth is destroyed, like a luxury yacht in a storm or stocks in a market crash, we consider their owner's mournful reactions justified. Man perceives his existence as a closed-off ultimate reality.

A child mourns the loss of a toy ship as if it was real

What if, like a child, we have conjured up an imaginary world for ourselves? When our universe feels solid, its disintegration shocks us to our core. Yet it is precisely in such moments, when we can peer behind the psychological veil to discern the transcendent. Everything humanity grasps so tight is smoke and mirrors. Finally, we see that there was always something beyond our fabricated constructs. Through breakdown, one can awaken to truths otherwise obscured by illusion.

For centuries, the Jewish people wandered hostile lands, forever strangers. Countless generations suffered unspeakable horrors, their blood soaking the soil of numerous regions from which they were endlessly expelled. Today, in the liberal West, there is hope for an end to this harrowing saga. For the first time, Jews can live without constant fear of the next pogrom, displacement, or genocide. The millennia of suffering now seem distant nightmares.

Despite the trauma that all Jews bear, it does not define our day-to-day lives. And in some ways, this disengagement from the past is necessary. If we thought of ourselves as being hunted constantly, thriving would be almost impossible. Yet anti-Semitism ignites a primal sense of Jewish identity. As the Baal Hatanya observed, even entirely secular Jews often find within themselves an unthinkable reserve of conviction when faced with a threat of separation from God. This has proven true throughout history as Jews demonstrated extraordinary courage and sacrifice in the face of persecution.

It is well known that German Jews were fully integrated members of German society. Such was their pride in German citizenship that some referred to Berlin as the "new Jerusalem." Many even looked down upon Eastern European Jews as crude and uneducated. Rabbi Shwab recounted how, for his bar mitzvah, he received both a Mesilas Yeshorim and Kant's Ethics as gifts - a testament to how fully immersed in German intellectual traditions some had become. However, within a few short years, German civilisation turned sharply against these once proud citizens. History bears bitter witness to the ensuing catastrophe.

While not remotely comparable to the horrors faced by German Jews in the 1930s, recent circumstances serve as a cautionary reminder. Where I live in the UK, the words "Free Palestine" have been graffitied over a bridge, and a local restaurant has had its windows smashed. For me, these incidents carry a clear underlying message - no matter how comfortable or secure we may feel, ultimately, this place will never fully accept or belong to us. We would be misguided to view our current homes as permanent abodes rather than temporary lodgings along the journey toward redemption. Throughout history, there have been proud Jewish communities in Spain, Poland, Germany and elsewhere who, ultimately, discovered the painful truth - that at their core, they were and would always be seen merely as Jews.

Our secure social settings feel unshakable. Jews have integrated fully into society's upper strata, achieving prominence in respected professions and institutions. Nevertheless, during periods like these, we must take a step back to reflect more deeply. As Avraham discerned God amidst the flames of a burning palace, so do these current " fires " threaten our sense of security. Momentarily, God allows us to peer beyond the false constructs of comfort we have built for ourselves. In these turbulent times, as intolerance spreads its insidious roots once more, we must take shelter in the sure haven of our eternal beliefs. Now more than ever, we must firmly reinforce the inner knowledge that there is only one true Jerusalem, eternal and transcendent. We still await redemption.

We pray for our brothers' safety and the Jewish people's swift redemption.