Have you noticed how much attention we have devoted to loud morons this year?
When I say loud morons, I mean prominent voices with huge followings who deliver hate-filled messages and conspiracy theories about everything from who killed Charlie Kirk to who was behind 9/11 to why Israel must be eliminated.
The more hate-filled the stories, the louder they get, the more attention we give them.
Loud morons, of course, have always existed, but we used to have this thing called “gatekeepers” that kept them in their caves. These gatekeepers were the equivalent of a doorman at a night club who makes sure drunk troublemakers are kept out.
Today, the drunk troublemakers are roaming the land, assaulting us with messages designed to arouse only anger and outrage, which is how they grow their following and make the most money.
The Jewish community has had little choice but to give these hateful voices inordinate attention, for the simple reason that many of them traffic in popular antisemitic and anti-Israel filth. Calling them out is an unavoidable part of our fight against antisemitism.
But why am I discussing such a downbeat subject on Christmas day, a day of good cheer and goodwill towards men?
Because lately I have found myself going in the very opposite direction of these exceedingly loud voices.
Maybe I just cracked.
After one too many email alerting me to another antisemitic rant from Tucker Carlson, Candace Owens or Nick Fuentes, or another clip from a Piers Morgan episode of activists screaming at one another, or a clip of “globalize the intifada” rioters or a radical imam reminding me why Jews must go down, I said: What else is there?
So I went hunting for old American movies.
I’ve always loved old American movies, but lately they’ve become a kind of emotional refuge.
I love them because they’re innocent. They just want to tell a great story, not sell me on a narrative. Knowing I’m not a target of someone’s agenda has a way of relaxing me. I start thinking “What do I love?” rather than “What do I hate?”
And instead of thinking of loud morons, I start thinking of quiet writers.
Every time the credits roll, I notice the names of the writers. Most of them are unknown. Thousands of Hollywood writers have toiled through the decades to provide us with stories that give us a break from the mind-numbing noise of an angry world.
These quiet writers are my unsung heroes.
Whether they wrote romantic comedies, musicals, film noir thrillers, war movies or historical epics, the only noise these writers made as they worked came from their typewriters.
They crafted the stories that defined their generation. It’s extraordinary that their work feels as alive today as ever. It’s impossible to watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” without feeling the same emotions viewers felt when it came out eighty years ago.
I feel the same way about film writers today. Especially in this town, I know that thousands of them wake up every day to work on a story that will hopefully one day move an audience.
Choosing the stories that move us, whether in our own little circles or in the real world, defines our lives. If we don’t make those choices, the loud morons will make them for us. They will fly through the open gates of our media jungle to stuff our minds with anything that can rile us up and appeal to our lowest appetites.
The best response is to become our own gatekeepers and look for things to love rather than hate. That love will come not from hate-filled voices with huge followings, but from quiet souls who know how to move other souls.
