In recent weeks, my social media pages have provided a colorful microcosm of a tension in the Jewish world. I am active on both TikTok and Facebook. On TikTok, I cannot post a video on any topic without receiving a pile of “free Palestines.” If I dare mention Israel, I am accused of supporting genocide. Meanwhile, Facebook provides an almost antithetical experience. Although it has a lower level of “ambient antisemitism” (because of how its algorithm works), when I bring up criticism of Israel as a progressive Zionist there, I am told I’m betraying my people.
The irony in this situation is best appreciated when knowing the following: I post very similar content on both platforms, often the exact same videos.
I am largely unfazed when I see antagonistic comments from non-Jews. Perhaps I’ve become desensitized to trollsmanship on the internet, but I just don’t consider “Antisemite Says Something Antisemitic” that novel a headline. However, I am concerned by malignant arguments within the Jewish community.
Our people’s growing schism around Israel is hardly our first major internal dispute. To name just a few others, we might consider late-Second-Temple-Era sectarianism in Judea (amongst Sadducees, Pharisees, Essenes, and Zealots), when Jews were fundamentally divided amongst warring factions; or early-Medieval-European-Karaite/Rabbinite strife, when as much as 40% of some cities’ Jewish populations were Karaites and opposed rabbinic leadership; or 17th-century Sabbateanism, when major proportions of Jewry became followers of the false messiah, Shabtai Tsevi.
Suffice to say, we’ve been here before, and we’ve overcome equally great challenges. The pattern in prior rifts, which I imagine we’ll see again today, is that 1) they’ll eventually heal, and 2) we’ll hurt ourselves between now and then. If those assumptions hold true, what’s most sad to me is that — at a time when we have enough problems we can’t avoid — Jews are inflicting self-harm that we could.
It is imperative that we minimize the unnecessary harm we are inflicting on one another, since we Jews are family — and we’re a small family at that, sharing a small community.
I was reminded of the “small world after all” during a parallel experience a few months ago, when getting brunch with family at a Cincinnati restaurant. After walking inside, I spotted some local anti-Zionists who recently had caused me public harassment. Being with family, I wasn’t keen on causing an incident, so I quickly ushered us to a table on the other side of the restaurant and positioned myself in a seat where I hoped to be out of sight. Thankfully, the meal passed without event — I don’t know if they saw me, but there was no incident.
The takeaway, I felt, was simple: Our (in this case, Cincinnati) community is small, and we cross paths even with those against whom we struggle. How much the more so is this true within the Jewish community, which globally is only about seven times the population of Greater Cincinnati.
Alas, we’re pretty far from the communal harmony and cohesion for which I think most of us long.
I often think of a short phrase from Genesis when contemplating the presently broken state of our internal Jewish discourse: v’lo yachlu dabro l’shalom, “They could not speak a peaceable word to him.” This line comes in Genesis 37:4, describing Joseph’s brothers’ feelings before they sold him into servitude. Today, we too have a disunified family in which suspicion and anger have often overridden our ability to care about one another’s well-being.
This reality is something many Jews are experiencing right now.
So, what can we do to make things better? Toning down the rhetoric we use when disagreeing would be a prudent start — better would be to lean into healthy discourse, even when our issues are significant and sensitive. Having been the target for plenty of attacks myself, I still always welcome those who disagree with me to speak face to face. In-person conversation (as opposed to social media- or print-based missives) increases our capacity for empathy and meaningful communication. And, while meeting over coffee seldom changes minds, it enables us to engage with curiosity, to listen and better understand others’ hearts.
I recently used my social media page to ask others how they were handling today’s tensions, and I was impressed by many responses — this, thank goodness, was the good side of social media. The wisdom there can be boiled down to three main values all of us, myself included, would do well to remember:
Humility. We should accept that we don’t know everything and that even those with whom we vociferously disagree have wisdom to offer us. Jews most critical of Israel can still learn from those who strongly support it, and vice versa.
Honesty. We need the courage to say what we actually mean and not be afraid to truly express ourselves. Especially when among our Jewish fellows, we must cease with the simplistic platitudes and all-or-nothing attitudes, instead being open to sharing our fears, concerns, and hopes. Too many feel their viewpoints are stifled, and that can hardly be good for our community.
Empathy. We must recognize our kinship with all Jews, even those with whom we have fundamental disagreements, and be committed to our eternal, collective relationship. This means knowing that even if we think each other advocates in a way or for things that are harmful, we don’t respond by tearing them down or cutting them off. Because, as a matter of fact, we can no more sever our connection to other Jews than we can expect a limb disconnected from a body to survive on its own.
Ultimately, I have confidence that, as before in history, we will overcome this moment of division. The only real question is how we’ll come out on the other side. It is incumbent upon each of us to do our part to protect our fellows, whether we agree with them or not.
Rabbi Ari Jun
Cincinnati, OH