Jews Love Living People: Tales of a Confident Present

Earlier this week, our local Jewish Federation hosted Dara Horn, author of People Love Dead Jews, for a talk. Like the title of her book, her talk was thought-provoking and intentionally delved into the uncomfortable.

Over the course of 40 minutes, she mixed brilliance with humor as she described why Jews can’t seem to escape the age-old hatred, manifesting in two forms: the Purim threat of annihilation and the Chanukah attack on Jewish identity. She explained why DEI education hasn’t significantly reduced antisemitism and why “staying quiet” has never worked for Jews.

By her own admission, Horn is long on the problem and short on the solution. At the conclusion of her recent nine-page Atlantic article, “October 7 Created a Permission Structure for Anti-Semitism,” Horn writes, “The permission structure is here, alive and vivid. It always is. Thousands of years of Jewish experience suggest we will continue on this course. But Jewish experience is not universal. One revolutionary idea in Jewish tradition, articulated everywhere from the Torah to the Israeli national anthem, is hope. Nothing is inevitable; people can change.”

On this point, the articulate Horn is short on words.

Our people have not simply been sustained by hope for change; rather, it is our confidence in the inherent goodness of all things that has sustained us. Even on our winter nights, we knew that a little light dispels much darkness.

The pain and suffering being experienced now is real. Yet we still believe in the idea so beautifully articulated by Anne Frank: “In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever-approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.”

This week, Jewish people the world over will read the story of the Flood.

After the waters subside and Noah makes an offering, the Creator says, “Never again will I curse the ground because of man, for the inclination of man’s heart is evil from [the time of] his youth. I will never again smite every living thing as I have done. So long as the earth exists, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, will never be suspended.”

Jewish thinkers explain that in this statement, the Creator is not simply setting a new policy; rather, it is a declaration of fact.

Perhaps there was a time when creation had become so decayed that a flood was needed to bring a sense of renewal. “Never again,” says the Creator. “Never again” will humankind lose its connection with its inner spark. Moving forward—through “rain, snow, or sleet”—the spark and divine connection in all matter will shine in a way that is accessible and present.

To prove it, the Creator shares the rainbow, a symbol of how, even when rain disrupts the light, it doesn’t darken it; rather, it refracts it into magnificent colors. This is the modus operandi going forward: shine a light, and just when it seems ineffective, a beautiful halo will emerge.

Thus, it is not hope that has sustained our people but the conviction that the divine spark in all matter is never too far below the surface.

Horn concludes her Atlantic article, “After this terrifying year, I hope we can find the courage to say, Never Again.”

The “Never Again” the Creator pronounced after the flood is what gives us courage. Never again will humanity be unable to access its divine spark. Never again will the world completely lose connection with its purpose. Never Again.