Before we begin…

Some of you are going to want to say that the sermon I’m about to give is controversial. And if that’s the case, okay. But I also know that there is a risk that if we aren’t careful, the message I hope to share might be misheard. So, before we start, let me be clear. This sermon is…

1.  Not about any political party

2. Not about any one political figure

3. Not to excuse anyone’s misbehavior or to prioritize one set of beliefs

Here is what the sermon IS going to be about

1. Antisemitism is on the rise

2. It is coming from Right and Left

3. We have to do something about it

Ok. Are you ready to start?

When you walked into the building today, you probably noticed the security personnel. Maybe you said hello, maybe you said thank you. And a thank you is surely warranted. They are there to keep us safe and to be the first line of defense in any God forbid moment. They put their lives on the line to keep us safe, and there aren’t enough words to express our gratitude.

But. They shouldn’t have to do that. No one should have to do that. I hate that we have to have them here. I wish so dearly that we didn’t need them here. And yet, we know that we do. The events of the past year, in particular, have made it abundantly clear that we need to have men and women in uniform standing guard while we are here to celebrate our season of reflection and renewal. It’s almost as if it’s normal. But, we know, and we need to say it out loud, this is not normal.

What is happening in this country? What is happening across the globe? Antisemitism is on the rise and antisemites, who used to be restricted to shameful and shady corners of subculture, are proudly waving their flags and sharing their thoughts in the public sphere. This is not normal. It’s dangerous. And it cannot persist in the America that I want to live in. An America worthy of the dreams we have for our children.

Maybe I’m young. Maybe I’m naïve. May I live in a bubble. Maybe I’ve been sheltered.

I grew up in the 90s in a place a lot like Deerfield. I grew up when Seinfeld was cool. When being Jewish was normal. And, as I shared with you last year I am the grandchild of a holocaust survivor. He said, I said, and I was part of a community that said “never again.” And we said that as a promise to not permit hatred to take root in our communities. Not just for us, but for all marginalized and vulnerable populations.

Sure, there was the occasional news story of a swastika painted somewhere, or some vandalism in a Jewish cemetery. The uncomfortable and inappropriate joke. But it always felt like an aberration. And when those things did happen, they were followed up with retractions, apologies, efforts to repair and make amends. But now…

The data tells us there’s been a rising tide. But, we don’t need the data. We feel it. We hear it. We see it. Something has shifted.

The attack at the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh was a disturbing wake up call for the American Jewish community. The most violent terror attack on the Jewish community in this country’s history. It was a stark, painful reminder, that Jews are a minority and a vulnerable, at times, loathed one at that. And lest, we think it was an anomaly, just a few months later, another murderous terrorist attack at a synagogue in Poway, California.

Look…I know this year has been hard. And you’ve come here, and we’ve talked to each other. And we, your clergy, we’ve heard you. You’ve shared your reactions to the shootings, statements, cartoons, speeches, rallies, marches, and tweets. Old stories about past experiences with antisemitism have bubbled back up. And new stories seem to have a sharper edge. And we’ve heard from the kids in our congregation about the antisemitism they witness and experience in high school and at college.

We’ve heard you. We’ve heard your fear and frustration. Our shared confusion and dismay. Exasperation and resolve.

So, let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about what it is. Where it’s coming from. And, most importantly, what we can do about it.

Antisemitism is a special kind of racism. Typically, with most types of animus, of hatred, the hater assumes that the object of his hatred is somehow less than, less worthy of dignity and respect. Antisemitism, however, is rooted in a conspiracy—the belief that Jews are a small cabal controls media, finance, politics, and power, and therefore yields undue influence over the world. And, because of this entirely irrational belief, they believe they must bring down the Jew to wrest control and assert their own freedom. And through this fear and hate stem a host of tropes, stereotypes, and slanderous falsities that have had dangerous, violent, murderous outcomes.

While most forms of hate and racism are an attempt to beat down those assumed to be less-than, antisemitism is a “punching up,”[1] an assault at a supernatural conspiracy.

That hatred is rooted in lies. And that hatred is irrational. And that hatred is dangerous.

And in recent months we have seen the danger is poses to the Jewish community.

The scholar on combating holocaust denial and antisemitism, Professor Deborah Lipstadt, writes, “Like a fire set by an arsonist, passionate hatred and conspiratorial worldviews reach well beyond their intended target. They are not rationally contained. But even if the antisemites were to confine their venom to Jews, the existence of Jew-hatred within a society is an indication that something about the entire society is amiss. No healthy society harbors extensive antisemitism—or any other form of hatred.”[2]

While the hatred may begin with hatred of Jews, it rarely ends there. Think back to the rally in Charlottesville in August 2017. Ostensibly a rally in opposition to the removal of confederate statues with severe anti-Black, anti-immigrant racial undertones. The rally faced counter protests and violent clashes, leaving one young woman, Heather Heyer, dead after being run over by a car that drove into a crowd of protesters.

This story and the reactions in its wake made headlines for weeks. But, there is a detail is often underreported. On the evening of August 11th, as hundreds of white supremacists made their way through Charlottesville, in one hand they held torches, and in the other hand…well, you know what they used that for. Recordings from the night showed people chanting “Jews will not replace us.”

Antisemitism was the inspiration, and violent threats to other vulnerable minority populations was the result.

Antisemitism on the right has been visible and violent, finding tacit support or at least an unwillingness to confront it from those in power. This is the type of antisemitism that, as awful as it sounds, we are used to. The antisemitism on the left it’s…different. And we need a separate schema for understanding what is happening on the left.

The theory of left-wing antisemitism is that oppression directed at Jews does not meet the threshold of concern. Jews, the thinking goes, are mostly white, are powerful, are wealthy, are privileged and therefore do not face the same threat as other vulnerable minorities. To that end, anti-Jewish hatred is low on the priority list of types of oppression to combat.

And, of course, we cannot ignore the role that misconceptions, lies, and hatred of Israel plays here as well. The Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions Movement (BDS) seeks to demonize Israel, deny its right to exist, and make anti-Israel sentiment core to any progressive ideology. While there are those who have legitimate grievances with Israeli policy, too often, Israel is automatically demonized, devolving into a wholesale antipathy toward Jews and Judaism with antisemitism masquerading as anti-Zionism.

We saw it at the Dyke March in Chicago in 2017 when progressive Jews wanted to wave a flag with a rainbow star of David, but were told that that star was a symbol of oppression and hatred. We have seen it at the Women’s March and in other progressive circles as Jews are called on by organizers and participants to disavow Zionism in order to be welcomed into the space. We see it on college campuses as Israel becomes the paradigm of oppression, and antisemitism tolerated in the service of the larger mission.

And, I know. I know that this is not enough time defining, describing, or enumerating the countless examples of antisemitism from right or left. And…you remember Oprah’s book club? Well…look under your chair! Well, there’s nothing there. But, this fall, starting on October 29th, you are all invited to read Antisemitism Here and Now, by Deborah Lipstadt. We will have a book discussion for three consecutive weeks and have an opportunity to dig deeper into these stories, their root causes, and the practical impact they have. The book is very readable, but it’s serious. Find a spot, take your time, read it. And then come join me for a conversation.

The truth is that we could argue until we are blue in the face about what threats we find most concerning, about what is the most pernicious. But when we are honest, when we step out of our ideological camps, we cannot help but see the holistic rise of antisemitism in this nation, and we must address this threat.

If the house is on fire...why would we argue about who lit the match? We have to put out the flame. So, what have we done? What have you done? What will we do in the face of hate that threatens us, our family, and the lives and wellbeing of our friends? Hate is present. Hate is on the rise. Irrational, dangerous, violent hatred is finding a foothold. What are we going to do?

Our tradition teaches about hate. It teaches that sinat chinam, baseless, freely given, irrational hatred has the ability to destroy a people and extinguish opportunities for the sacred. But it is not just those who hate that the rabbis are worried about. Those who stand by, those who witness hatred and remain silent, those who do not speak out against hate are also responsible for the destruction it causes.

We can not be silent when we see antisemitism. Whenever and wherever we see it or hear it, we have to name it, say why it is problematic, and, if necessary condemn it.

And the trick is, we have to be consistent. We all know how divided our nation is at the moment. But if we only call out antisemitism from those we disagree with politically, then our words will ring hollow. We also have to call it out from those we see as friends or allies. We cannot only speak when it is politically expedient, nor can we be silent when we would rather not ruffle the feathers in the name of a political bargain. Hate is hate. And that hate is always dangerous when it goes unchecked.

Name it. Say why is hurts. Say that it’s not ok.

That’s it. You may feel a temptation to engage in “whataboutism.” I know that I’ve made that mistake. Sure that’s antisemitic….but what about XYZ that this other person did. What is or is not happening in other parts of the political spectrum doesn’t excuse antisemitism. Call it out, no matter who says it.

But it’s not enough just for us to call it out. We have to find partners and allies to stand with. Eric Ward started attending conferences and expos sponsored by white nationalist groups and their affiliates. While he was there he saw Jew-hatred everywhere. And he learned, and he teaches to anyone who will listen, that his destiny, as an African American man, is wrapped up in the fight against antisemitism.

I asked him about this. What do we do? How do we find partners? And the reality is, sometimes, people will say things that will hurt. And we have a choice about how to respond. We can try to have a conversation, we can try to stay at the table, or we can take our ball and go home. But the risk of walking away is both that we will lose opportunities to find people to stand with us, and we will lose credibility as those who oppose hatred. Surely, sometimes there will be tables where we cannot sit. But Eric Ward would tell us to find another table.

Rabbi Jonah Pesner of the Religious Action Center tells a powerful story. He was at a Poor People’s Campaign rally organized by Rev. William Barber III. Rabbi Pesner stepped up to give a speech about voting rights. A person in the front row started shouting at him ‘what about Palestine?!” Anti-Israel animus leading to the shouting down of any Jewish voices. Before Rabbi Pesner could respond, Barber took the microphone and demanded that the man stop. “How dare you. For you to shout down my Jewish brother, whom I, a descendant of slaves and the Cherokee nation, invited to speak is an example of white supremacy.” Rabbi Pesner says he never felt more held than in that moment. And, we know, that moment is only possible because of a relationship not forged exclusively during crises. Stay at the table, find allies, and stand together.

When we do the hard work of sitting around the table with other vulnerable minorities, when we share our experience of fear and promise to stand together, we can create a firewall against hate.

And sometimes what we have to do in the face of antisemitism, is to find a space to talk. We need to be able to share our experiences with each other and make it safe for each other, for our kids, to speak. Sometimes we need to tell our non-Jewish friends so they too can bear witness to the pain, sadness, fear, and anger than antisemitism causes. We don’t have to have a morbid competition of who faces the worst discrimination. Rather, we can recognize that all are “terrible by-products of senseless hatred?”[3]

It may start with Jews, but it doesn’t end there. And we ignore any existence of hate at our own peril and that of our friends and neighbors.

There’s one last thing that we must, must do. And I say this now, in part, to undo most of what I just said to you over the last 17 minutes. We cannot let antisemitism define our Judaism. If we are only Jewish to poke a finger in the eye of antisemites, if our Jewish experience is exclusively defined by victimhood,[4] perpetually enumerating destructions and persecutions, then we have lost. What we have to do is…be Jewish. Find your portal. Pray, study serve…build a meaningful Jewish experience for yourself and for your kids. What calls us to our Judaism is Sinai; it’s revelation, the wisdom and history of our tradition. It is, as the late David Hartman wrote, the “awesome responsibility of becoming a holy people.” If all that calls us to Judaism is a history of being oppressed, then our Judaism…what is there to protect?  We have a beautiful, wise, powerful, compelling, inspiring tradition. We cannot cede it to those who hate us. We must celebrate the hope, the vision, and the dream of the best of what it means to be a Jew.

Ok. So. Here is what you heard me say:

1. Antisemitism is on the rise

2. It is coming from Right and Left

3. We have to do something about it

   1. We have to call it out

   2. We have to find partners to stand with

   3. We cannot let antisemitism define our Jewish experience

We are strong. We are worthy. And we will not be defeated by hate.

[1] https://forward.com/opinion/401007/intersectionality-has-abandoned-jews-should-we-abandon-intersectionality/

[2] Lipstadt, xi.

[3] Lipstadt, 99.

[4] Salo Wittmayer Baron