CELEBRATING THE GOOD IN THE FACE OF THE BAD

Dear Professor Lipstadt:

I write to thank you very much for the time you’ve spent these past few months in dialogue with Professor Wilson and me. Our exchanges have helped me put a painful phenomenon into perspective and to understand its conspiratorial and delusional qualities. I feel that I’ll be able to fight it more effectively now. I’m also committed to battling against other forms of discrimination, for moral as well as strategic reasons. In my metaphorical toolbox are both a scalpel and an ax. I will be careful to discern when to use one and when to use the other. Thank you for giving me the information and the courage to proceed.

Your student,

Abigail

Dear Abigail:

Thank you so much for your kind words. I’m particularly gratified that you feel so committed to this fight. But, as usual, something is gnawing at me. And so knowing that but a few months ago you were handed your diploma, and now are about to go out into the real world and become my former student, let me leave you with one more thought.

Thus far, I’ve tried to avoid making our exchange a cri de coeur and to speak instead as dispassionately as possible. But now I’m speaking to you from my heart, not about what the antisemite might do to us, but about what we are in danger of doing to ourselves.

Most Jews will immediately step forward when Jews anywhere are being attacked by antisemites. This is of course as it should be. What is regrettable, however, is that for some Jews, the fight against antisemitism becomes the sum total of their Jewish identity. Recently, a much-respected Jewish communal leader lamented to me that he regretted not having educated his children about Jewish traditions and culture. He was, however, very proud of the fact that he had embedded within them a total intolerance of antisemitism. His kids were prepared to be at the barricades to do battle against this hatred, and many others as well. His comments made me sad. Antisemitism has become the drummer to which his family’s Jewish identity marches. They know of Jew as object, not subject. In other words, what is done to Jews becomes far more significant than what Jews do. This well-intentioned Jewish father has deprived his children of a rich and multifaceted legacy. They have been taught to see themselves mainly as perennial victims. This cedes to the oppressor control over one’s destiny. It leaves many Jews, including this man’s children, aware of what to be against but not what to be for.

I have repeatedly stressed that antisemitism is a delusional form of hatred. It conjures a malign image of the Jew that does not in fact exist, and then it proceeds to find it everywhere. But we cannot allow this delusion to lead to another delusion—that because this hatred is, unfortunately, ever present, we must make fighting it the fulcrum upon which our identity pivots.

What is necessary for Jews to survive and flourish as a people is neither dark pessimism nor cockeyed optimism, but realism. It would be ludicrous to dismiss as paranoid the concerns of those who react strongly to the escalating acts of antisemitism in recent times. In countries throughout the world, armed guards are now regularly stationed in front of synagogues, and Jewish communal organizations have had to institute tight security measures. In some parts of the world, Jews intentionally avoid carrying or wearing anything that identifies them as Jews. But at the same time, it would be folly for Jews to make this the organizing principle of their lives.

Although I have devoted most of my professional life to the study of the persecution of the Jews, that has never been what has driven me personally as a Jew. I value and celebrate my tradition and its teachings. My awareness of the many grievous wrongs that have been perpetrated against Jews throughout history is not the foundation of my Jewish identity. Jewish culture and Jewish history constitute the foundation of who I am. This dichotomy was starkly illustrated during a recent Jewish holiday, as I entered my synagogue along with two friends—a five-year-old girl and her mother. The mom smiled at the security guard stationed at the door, turned to her daughter, and said, “Let’s say hi and thank you to the guard for keeping us safe.” A look of puzzlement swept across my little friend’s face. From the many books we have read together, she knows about “safe” places and “dangerous” places, and in her mind a synagogue did not fall under the latter category. It’s a joyful place where she runs around with the other kids in the playground, attends a children’s service that is filled with singing, and then wends her way into the main sanctuary, where she and her playmates help conclude the services and receive lollipops from the rabbi. Why would she need someone to help keep her safe in such a place? Yet we know that she does, indeed, need protection there. My hope for my little friend is that as she grows up, her awareness of the dangers that may threaten her well-being at the synagogue or any other Jewish venue will never overshadow the joys she finds there.

And my hope for you, Abigail, is not dissimilar. Should you choose to, you can participate in a vibrant Jewish future. You will encounter antisemitism along the way, but I entreat you to avoid letting this “longest hatred” become the linchpin of your identity. Jewish tradition in all its manifestations—religious, secular, intellectual, communal, artistic, and so much more—is far too valuable to be tossed aside and replaced with a singular concentration on the fight against hatred.

This need for Jews to balance the “oy” with the “joy” is an exhortation that could well be shared with many other groups that have become the objects of discrimination and prejudice. To you and all your peers whom I have had the good fortune to have taught, and whose questions have inspired me to explore this topic from a variety of perspectives, I say, in the words of the Hebrew Scriptures, “be strong and of good courage.”1 Never stop fighting the good fight, even as you rejoice in who you are.

Your grateful teacher,

DEL