June 8, 2021

The recent wave of antisemitism sweeping across the country has captured the attention of the American Jewish community in a new way. Antisemitism isn’t new, but for some it feels like it is, and many are looking for a way to respond. On May 21 the #BlueOutFriday campaign was launched on Instagram.

Given the current cultural moment, it seemed reasonable to hope that the effort would both offer a platform for pride and solidarity, and help make antisemitism as socially toxic as any other form of bigotry in America. The nation seemed primed to focus its outrage on the victimization of one of its smallest minority groups, statistically targeted for hate crimes more than any other in the country.

Did it work?

“It felt good to see the flood of support on my feed that day,” said Charlotte M., a Jewish artist in her 40s whose Instagram followers of all faiths responded positively to her post. But she felt much less optimistic about the larger national response (or lack thereof) from corporate America, politicians and the masses.

“It was obvious,” she said, “that we weren’t getting a widespread show of support on the scale of what other communities have experienced. My daughter’s school always has a lot to say about diversity and inclusion but was eerily silent on this issue. I didn’t get open letters from shopping websites like I did last summer pledging to listen and to do more. It took our Jewish senator more than a week to speak up.”

Perhaps that lackluster response teaches us a sobering lesson. Social capital around support for Jews is thin at best. The national mood didn’t demand statements from CEOs and sports stars, so many didn’t issue them. Those who did speak out are appreciated and admired, precisely because they are in the minority.

Perhaps that lackluster response teaches us a sobering lesson. Social capital around support for Jews is thin at best.

Of course not all Jews participated in the campaign, and for a variety of reasons. “It just felt like we were coopting another movement’s idea,” explained one non-poster. Another told me that he didn’t post because it felt like another empty social media moment.

This form of shoulder-shrugging should make us think about the lack of inspirational creativity in our communal responses to moments of crisis. It should also make us question the wisdom of institutions that busily fight antisemitism together with all other forms of “hate.” Perhaps we have so thoroughly convinced a generation of American Jews that there is nothing particular about antisemitism, nothing that distinguishes it from other forms of prejudice, that we have taken away the special responsibility Jews have to fight it. If you had a black square on your feed last year, perhaps a blue one this year seemed redundant.

Hate is hate, right?

Orit M., who sits on the boards of several Jewish and pro-Israel organizations, didn’t post a blue square either, but for a very different reason. “Turning your square blue and then sleepwalking to the polls every November isn’t helping,” she said. Her objection wasn’t to the virtue signaling, but to the cover it provides those who then take no further responsibility for the cause. They, like so many unaccountable politicians, check their Jewish community boxes by posting blue ones, even while downplaying antisemitic tweets by Ilhan Omar.

What, then, is the point?

It’s possible that the greatest pushback against #BlueOutFriday centered around mixed messaging. “Many of my friends were confused as to whether this was about supporting Israel or speaking out against antisemitism,” said Jake T., a 37-year-old entrepreneur. His circle doesn’t countenance bloodied Jews in the streets, and had this wave of attacks started with anything other than a headline about Gaza, perhaps he and his friends would have gotten on board. But media coverage of recent anti-Jewish hate crimes has relied primarily on such headlines, and that tells us something depressingly important. The campaign to delegitimize Israel has been successful among Jews and non-Jews alike. It has created moral confusion so deep that decency and reason cannot prevail against it.

Never mind that this conflict was started by Hamas, a corrupt, Iranian-backed, terrorist organization with no regard for innocent life, Israeli or Palestinian. It’s a detail that has been conspicuously absent from mainstream coverage of the conflict. We have so lost the narrative that this fact either didn’t make it through or wouldn’t make a difference if it did.

The saddest outcome is that Jews themselves have fallen victim to this narrative. Inject the word “Israel” into the conversation and many dive for cover first and ask questions later. Calls to kill Jews and rape their daughters on the streets of London and Los Angeles were somehow successfully framed as reactions to a political event, rather than the displays of naked Jew-hatred that they were. Jews with neurotic aversions to standing up for themselves wouldn’t speak up because, Israel.

The saddest outcome is that Jews themselves have fallen victim to this narrative.

Inside the Jewish community, pro-Israel advocates have been trying for more than a decade now to remind everyone that Israel is a liberal cause. It is. Every classic liberal value from freedom of religion, to respect for human life, to women’s rights is alive and well in the Jewish State. But it is not an effective argument at a time when the definitions of Left and Right in America are changing so rapidly. That gay men march in Pride parades in Tel Aviv and are thrown off roofs in Gaza has often been cited. Has it changed public opinion or even Jewish support for Israel?

The anti-Israel agenda has little to do with the politics, human rights issues, or the property disputes about which liberal Jews feel defensive. It is rooted in antisemitism. Jews who cannot answer these attacks with a healthy dose of Jewish values will not likely win the debate by pointing to Ra’am’s inclusion in the next Israeli government. We need more Jews with moral self-confidence. That we haven’t cultivated enough of them to decry antisemitism in our streets is something to remedy.

If some people gained a sense of purpose and motivation from posting their blue-squares on May 21 then it was probably worth doing. If the Jewish community learns from the experience for the next moment of crisis, which is sure to come, then it will have been of great value. It isn’t clear that #BlueOutFriday created a movement in our direction so much as it unmasked the depth of the movement against us. But there is value in that reality-check too.

Rebecca Sugar is a freelance writer and philanthropic consultant living in New York. Her work has been published in The Wall Street Journal, USA Today, The Spectator, The Christian Post and JNS.org.

As a pulpit rabbi in Orange County, I am exposed to many congregants who are painfully estranged from family members due to different perspectives on many social issues, but most recently, the COVID-19 vaccine. My family is not exempt from these challenges and we have struggled deeply with the criticism and lack of contact with family members around our desire to respect CDC guidelines around masks, social distancing and vaccinations.

After over a year of not being in contact, a family member sent me a video of a doctor speaking about the dangers of the COVID-19 vaccines, the hospitals’ over-inflated numbers of COVID-19 cases and deaths, and the government’s role in spreading false information about the pandemic. I assume she sent this video to me because it’s very important to her that I understand and even come to agree with her point-of-view, which is different from mine.

I began my response to her by affirming that she was reaching out to me because the information to which she is exposed and the sources of authority that she trusts believe that our country’s handling of this pandemic, and even our very government, is dangerous and needs to be fought. I briefly shared that based on the sources of authority that I trust, I see vaccinations as the solution to bringing our country out of this pandemic.

Instead of launching into my perspective on the pandemic and justifying my position, I tried to share what has been in my mind and heart regarding these kinds of discussions, and the divisions they create among people we love. I shared that we live in a country that is more divided than I have ever experienced in my lifetime, and maybe since the Civil War. I believe that this division is due to people living in an information bubble with their own news sources and social media feeds in our internet-based world.

We don’t have regular BBQs with our neighbors who hold diverse perspectives, giving us different ways to think about issues. Instead, we are connected virtually to like-minded people who all reinforce our perspectives. This is true on the left and the right.

And all of the news sources and social media feeds that we watch have one agenda—to make money. And they do that by keeping us watching. They keep us watching by getting us riled up. No matter what happens around the world—whether with COVID, vaccines, Israel, or something else—each source will present it in ways that make it a moral issue to which there is only one appropriate response. And anyone who has a different response is presumed to be an idiot, morally bankrupt, or part of the problem.

And what is so painful is that we have even begun to view our beloved family members as being on “the other side” if they don’t share our information and opinions. I have seen this tear apart members of my congregation, and I’m seeing it in our own family.

Truth is a slippery thing. In our separate media and social bubbles, there are entirely different sets of facts about what is true. Who do you trust? Each one of us can say,“Of course, it’s obvious, my set of facts is correct and the rest is just manipulated fake news.” But based on what? It’s important for all of us to reflect on why we put our authority in certain places and not in others.

Our sages have had some fascinating discussions and teachings in the Talmud about the tension between truth and peace. When interpreting Torah, they can interpret a pasuk (a verse) in an infinite number of ways, creating countless midrashim or interpretations. Which interpretation is the “true” one? Many opposing and different interpretations are given validity on the same page of the Gemara. We need to listen to them. But in the countless arguments between Hillel and Shammai, the halacha always sides with Hillel. Why? Because Hillel always stated the opinion of Shammai before his own. Because Hillel allowed his students to eat with Shammai’s, even though they disagreed about Kashrut. Because Hillel’s interpretations increased connection, love, and peace regardless of whether they were what the Holy One intended when the Torah was given.

So while I do my best to get as much information from as many perspectives as possible, both in news and relationships, and I have to make decisions and choices based on my best analytics of the information I have, I am aware that none of the “facts” can lead me to “the truth.” Instead, I’m more interested in how to interpret the information that surrounds me in ways that increase more connection and peace with the people I love and with whom I’m connected.

I’m sick and tired of these issues getting in the way of expressing our love for each other in all the beautiful ways we know how to do. I believe that it is vitally important that we learn the art of listening and sharing with each other about issues around which we have deep differences. Our sages knew how to do this. They knew how to stay connected with each other and have arguments l’shem shamayim—for the sake of heaven. And I am committed to helping my congregation learn this art of dialogue. But while we are learning this art, my hope is that we can prioritize and focus our conversations with the people we love on what gives us meaning, joy, connection, inspiration, or how we are dealing with sadness and isolation—the real stuff. And through the strengthening of our connections, I believe we will find ways to understand each other.

K’vod Wieder is the rabbi of Temple Beth El of South Orange County where he initiated the successful program, “Can We Talk?!: How To Build Relationships Through Disagreement.” He is working on an upcoming book, “The Torah of Relationships.”

Two weeks ago, I was in a very serious car accident that required emergency brain surgery. As I am writing this I have 32 staples in my skull and partial paralysis on the left side of my face. I was 25 minutes away from dying, they said, but let’s start with the good news!

As a standup comic, that’s what I’m supposed to do, anyway. Some people think that it’s way too early to reflect on what I’m going through, but it’s such a unique time, so why not seize it? I can also finally stare at a screen without getting a big headache so I might as well take advantage. But when I considered writing this piece, most people around me said, simply and kindly, “whenever you are ready.” But I’m not sure if anyone is ever really ready, so there’s no time like the present.

The good news: I can walk, I can see, and my recovery speed has been described as “rare” in terms of balance, dizziness, and other benchmarks. I try to exercise regularly, and so I have to admit I was proud when, once I was conscious enough to answer, the nurses took my vitals and kept asking, “Do you run or something?” Once I was standing, I was able to do regular walking laps around the hallways of the hospital. The nurses could not have been nicer when it came to helping me.

Emotionally there have been some positive experiences I would have never anticipated. I have no memory of getting hit by the truck, but as I woke up from the surgery, I remember seeing my parents walking in, along with my friend Rachel, who was on the phone and telling a nurse, “Yes, I’m his sister,” although she’s not. But Rachel is tough as nails and clearly wasn’t going to put up with rules about visitors.

I was in agony when they arrived since I had a tube down my throat and had started to throw up. The ICU nurse, Kate, fought to get the tube taken out. She succeeded in getting it removed, but would still have to insert a tube down my nose and into my stomach. She said it would hurt, and that I should grab Rachel’s hand and squeeze. I did just that and made it through.

My sister (my actual sister who is a nurse) flew in from Massachusetts and my brother from LA. They both said to me, “You’re aware there are a ton of people worried about you and inquiring?” I honestly wasn’t, but after realizing that people were concerned about me, I felt hopeful. I was touched. It mattered to me more than anything that people reached out. Most texted because they didn’t want to “bother” me, but my head hurt, and so reading messages on a screen was more difficult.  But my siblings were champs—they helped me read through the messages because I felt determined to answer everyone and thank them for reaching out.

My sister’s strength is her calm demeanor and level head (no pun intended with the head reference), and I distinctly remember grabbing her hand when she came in, thinking to myself, “Thank God.” My brother’s strength is his intensity, and when it came to gathering records, making sure the necessary medication was being prescribed, and connecting with doctors I would need when I was released, he took charge so I didn’t have to. My parents of course were a whole other level of caring that I can’t really describe, so I won’t.

The friends and others they allowed in, some of whom posed as clergy to gain entrance (which I found hilarious), were immensely helpful. My friend Max, who is also my neighbor in LA, showed up out of nowhere. I still have no idea how he got in, but I felt immediate relief upon seeing him and he went above and beyond by arranging a Hatzolah Air flight back to Houston for my family and me on a donated jet that included staff to check my vitals. They even offered to lower the altitude if the pressure on my ear and head was too much.

Every step of the way, even as I was reeling from physical and emotional pain, I was amazed by how much people care for me.

Every step of the way, even as I was reeling from physical and emotional pain, I was amazed by how much people care for me.

As a religious Jew, suddenly religious ceremonies took on a special importance to me. As Friday night approached, I worried. Visitors were not allowed after 8pm and the Sabbath was rolling in right about that time. How was I going to recite or listen to the Kiddush, the blessing over the grape juice? Before I knew it, out of nowhere, two young Chabad Chasidic Jews walked into my room and took over.

“How did you guys even get in here?” I asked. “We’re officially clergy! We’re on the list and Rabbi Klein at the synagogue in Aventura arranged it!” When they started reciting various blessings I tried to join in but broke down. I could barely get through it.

When a Chabad Chasid named Mendy Goren passed away a couple of years ago, I wrote an article about how much he and his family in Miami meant to me. It’s no surprise that this same family was instrumental in connecting my family to the hospital and letting others know where I was. His image popped into my head when they started the service, as if he was telling me, “Did you really think I’d let you go without this? I have you taken care of, even from this world!” I even successfully took a small sip of the grape juice and felt like the Sabbath mattered more than ever.

Another friend, also named Avi, came to do Havdalah with me even though no one had asked him to. I also had a great visit from my friend Achicam, who was hurt in the accident with me. Although he broke a few ribs, thank God he did not require hospitalization and is on the full mend. When he came to visit we basically collapsed into each other’s arms, happy that we are both alive. His choice to drive a Volvo basically saved my life and I’ll forever be grateful.

While this giant pile of feelings may sound inspirational, what I really learned is that not all emotional moments and interactions are going to be inspiring. Returning home to Houston was the beginning of this realization.

Back in Houston with my parents and brother, I broke down again, but this time it wasn’t a giant pile of hugs and good feelings. This time, I was angry and depressed. Did I even have a right to feel that way? After all, I had already bucked some pretty good odds, right? Numerous people said I was lucky to be alive and walking. Were my anger and depression rational?

I don’t remember exactly what triggered my breakdown, but it was a general discussion of treatments and expected time of recovery for my facial paralysis that was the tipping point. I began to walk around the house, screaming, “This isn’t me! I’m supposed to make people smile and now I can’t even do it myself! This isn’t me! I’m not some kind of pity case! I don’t want to be a professional victim! I’m the guy who bucks the odds, not the other way around!”

I got so angry when my family wouldn’t agree that I could beat the odds at an absurdly fast rate that I picked up a half-full bottle of water and threw it on the ground so hard that I hurt my arm. I know they were just trying to calibrate my disappointment, but I was furious and couldn’t calm down.

I got so angry when my family wouldn’t agree that I could beat the odds at an absurdly fast rate that I picked up a half-full bottle of water and threw it on the ground so hard that I hurt my arm.

When I finally did relax, my father was also crying, but not because he was sad. He said he was grateful I was still alive. To him, that his son was still here was a gift, and he was relieved that I had finally broken down emotionally. It showed that I was human.

The next day, two close friends who are comics, Dan and Ray, called me and said they had seen comics who have had strokes go on stage, address it briefly and then move on. You only become a victim on stage if you present yourself that way, they said, so don’t. In other words, the way I present myself is my choice alone.

Years ago, I was fortunate to do some shows in Iraq and Afghanistan where I met some elite soldiers with whom I’ve kept in touch. My buddy Chris called me after my accident and reminded me that he has experienced three traumatic head injuries. He told me to take it easy, and advised that showing off my type A personality is not the best route to take.

It’s only been a short time, but what I have learned so far, even as I am right in the middle of it, is that I still have a lot to learn. Right now I’m now embarrassed that I feel shame, that I can’t even post a picture without the obvious facial struggles. Maybe that’s okay. Crying, feeling depressed, and constantly questioning scenarios in my life—maybe those things are also okay. To be brutally honest, I have a job to do, and aside from spreading joy, love, and positivity, I’ve realized that part of that job is being a human being with all of the accompanying faults.

I’m still learning. I haven’t come out on the other side yet. But one thing I’ve realized is just how much family, friends and even total strangers can get you through the hardest times. We will have our bad days, but in the end, we can do more than just survive. We can live. Let’s start there, and hopefully we can all learn as we go, and live better, struggles and all.

Avi Liberman is a standup comedian and screenwriter who has recently sold two films. He has arranged the Comedy For Koby Tour tour in Israel for well over a decade. He also has a documentary entitled “Land of Milk and Funny” about the tour. Follow him at avilibermancomedy on Instagram and his website www.aviliberman.com.