Yesterday, a letter - call it a statement, a declaration, whatever you’d like - was released with 650 rabbis’ signatures, and that number continues to grow. The letter began:
“As rabbis from across the United States committed to the security and prosperity of the Jewish people, we are writing in our personal capacities to declare that we cannot remain silent in the face of rising anti-Zionism and its political normalization throughout our nation.”
It goes on to say:
“We will not accept a culture that treats Jewish self-determination as a negotiable ideal or Jewish inclusion as something to be ‘granted.’ The safety and dignity of Jews in every city depends on rejecting that false choice.”
Yes, the letter mentioned one of the current New York City mayoral candidates, and predictably, some media outlets fixated on that instead of the message itself.
When I first saw the letter, I didn’t sign it immediately. As I mentioned to my congregation on Rosh Hashanah, I’ve learned to sit with uncertainty. I read the letter, wrestled with it, and waited. The sentiments resonated with me, but I still hesitated. After speaking with the author and a few colleagues who had already signed, some language changes helped me reach a place of comfort.
Is it a perfect statement? No. But its ultimate message, that we cannot remain silent in the face of the political normalization of anti-Zionism, and that Jews should never have to hide our connection to Israel to be accepted, needed to be said and heard.
I expected pushback from those outside our community. Too many people still fail to see the fine line between anti-Zionism and antisemitism, or what happens when that line is crossed. Criticism of the Israeli government? Go ahead. I, too, have plenty to say about both the Israeli and American governments. But denying Israel’s right to exist as the Jewish homeland crosses that line. So does excluding Jews because they support Israel. So does physically harming or killing Jews while shouting “Free Palestine” or “F--- Israel.”
We would never accept this logic for any other group. During COVID, we called out hate directed at Asian Americans. Russian Americans have not been targeted for Russia’s aggression in Ukraine. So why, once again, is it acceptable when it comes to Jews?
What I wasn’t prepared for was the backlash from within, the negativity directed at those who didn’t sign. There are all kinds of reasons a rabbi might not sign a public letter. Some don’t want to associate with documents that mention political candidates, even in this changed legal landscape. Some didn’t see it. Some agreed with the message but felt the candidate’s name distracted from it. And yes, some simply disagreed.
That’s part of Jewish life. We don’t agree 100% of the time. We’re not meant to. The divisions in the American Jewish community aren’t new; they’re part of our ongoing struggle to define what it means to be Jewish in America, to hold both the universal and the particular, to be at home here while holding tight to traditions that have lasted millennia. Disagreement is natural. Disdain is not. We can be upset or disappointed by someone’s choice not to sign, but the negativity, the shame, the vitriol, those won’t make us any safer, stronger, or more united.
America has been good to us, but comfort can dull our perception. We’ve grown accustomed to microaggressions we’d immediately recognize if they targeted others. As Dr. Mijal Bitton writes in her D’var Torah on Noach, “To be a Jew is to struggle, not bitterly, but faithfully. We live, rejoice, and insist on Jewish joy, knowing the covenant never promised ease, only purpose. Our task is not to wait for safety but to choose life.”
Not everyone signed the letter. And that’s okay. We’re all struggling in our own ways, hopefully working toward the same goal: the safety and security of the Jewish people. Because when we feel safe, truly safe, we can turn outward again to do the sacred work that has always defined us: making the world better for everyone.
