In Defense of the Undeserving Victim

“I’m one of the undeserving poor: that’s what I am. Think of what that means to a man. It means that he’s up against middle class morality all the time. If there’s anything going, and I put in for a bit of it, it’s always the same story: ‘You’re undeserving; so you can’t have it.’ But my needs is as great as the most deserving widow’s.” So claimed Alfred Doolitle in Pygmalion, and thus did George Bernard Shaw lampoon one of the most deeply held beliefs of Victorian society: that not all poor people are deserving of our charity. If they are alcoholics, or prostitutes or petty criminals, they are morally circumspect, and thus unworthy of our compassion or care. In the century since Shaw wrote these words, our understanding of poverty has changed dramatically. We have come to understand that things that were once assumed to be a cause of poverty are often its effect. Desperation can drive people to do harmful things, and it is society’s responsibility to alleviate this desperation so that people aren’t driven to these harms.

I had occasion to reflect on Shaw’s words during our Seder this year. When spilling wine to recognize the suffering of the Egyptians, our enemies and enslavers, we started discussing around the table whether we truly owe empathy to our enemies. Clearly, the rabbis who constructed the Seder’s traditions thought that we did. But as the discussion progressed around the table and shifted to Gaza, it became clear that most people present made a distinction between the deserving and the undeserving victim. Everybody could agree that Palestinian babies that have died in the massive bombings of Gaza are deserving of our compassion. We all could agree that Hamas terrorists who were actively involved in October 7 or caused injury to hostages, are not. But what about all the Gazans who, while not having done anything personally against Israelis, support Hamas and do not regret the atrocities of October 7? What about the Gazans who knew about the whereabouts of hostages and did nothing to save them?

This made me think of another conversation I had recently with a friend and colleague who is a humanitarian aid worker. I spoke to him about how horrified I was by the condition of the recently returned Israeli hostages and he responded, not by expressing empathy for my pain, but rather by talking about all the suffering in Gaza, explaining that “it’s sometimes hard to keep the humanity of both sides in equal measure when the extent of destruction and suffering is overall so disproportionate.” Again, raising the question of whether people who accept or justify the suffering of others are deserving of empathy.

My point in bringing this up is not to discuss whether Israel’s actions in Gaza are justified or not, or if the massive suffering there is entirely, partly or not at all attributable to Hamas’s actions. The question I find more compelling is whether we have an obligation towards the “undeserving” victim. Do we owe empathy to people who do not condemn the suffering of others? Or can we make a distinction between the innocent victim who is deserving of our compassion, and the victim who is not deserving of our sympathy, not due to their actions, but rather due to their inaction or attitudes?

For me, the answer to this question is no different than that of the undeserving poor. Just as we have learned over the years that poverty can drive people to behaviors that harm themselves or others, so conflict drives people to harden their hearts towards their enemies. Israelis and Palestinians are not Norwegians and Canadians, unencumbered by historical conflict. The past century of Arab-Israeli conflict has taken a horrible toll on both of our peoples. It is difficult to find anyone on either side that has not personally suffered, or had loved ones who have suffered, from the conflict. This is something that Israelis and Palestinians share. And so, I do understand and empathize with people who say that they cannot have empathy for the other side because of this history of suffering. But while these feelings are understandable, they are not helpful. In the end result, if we cannot recognize the humanity on the other side, and the root causes of their lack of compassion for those who have caused them harm, then we are putting ourselves on the path to an ever-broadening cycle of violence, where one heartless act leads inexorably to another, even more heartless, one.

I am not naïve.  It is clear that in the post-October 7 world we are farther than ever from the possibility of resolving this conflict. But, if there is a journey of a thousand miles until we can achieve peace, it is clear to me that the first step must be radical empathy. Radical in the sense that it does not make the distinction between the deserving and the undeserving victim. Radical in that it recognizes that we are all not the same people we once were before all the bloodshed, and that does not make us less human, but rather only subject to the same human tendency to not feel compassion for the side that has caused our suffering. There was a time, 30 years ago, when the possibility of peaceful coexistence seemed to be in our reach. When most Palestinians and Israelis supported the idea of coexistence. That possibility was crushed, largely because a small number of opponents to peaceful coexistence were able to cause a large amount of suffering, leading us all to harden our hearts, as Pharaoh once did. But while the Haggadah teaches us that it is right to fight back against the authors of our suffering, it also says that we must ultimately remember their humanity so that we can one day shake off the bonds of suffering and be free.  And so this year, my spilled drops of wine were dedicated towards the countless homeless, hungry, injured and dead of Gaza. So that we don’t forget that they are suffering too. So we may one day bring the suffering of everyone, Jews and Palestinians, to an end, and dream again of peace.