Not My Enemy: Responding to Galit Distel Atbaryan

This week, a disturbing moment unfolded in the Knesset. During a committee session, Likud MK Galit Distel Atbaryan interrupted Reform Rabbi and Knesset member Gilad Kariv, telling him: “Remove the Reformist, the Jews here want to continue.” The implication is that only Jews who fit a specific mold are really Jewish.

As an Israeli, Jew, and Orthodox rabbi, I am ashamed by such rhetoric. This wasn’t a policy disagreement—it was an attempt to publicly dismiss a fellow Jew because of his religious identity. And it happened in the halls of our democratic government, in the Jewish state.

We are living through an extraordinary and painful time for the Jewish people. The aftershocks of October 7 and this continuing war continue to harm Jews everywhere. Antisemitic violence is rising across the globe. In recent weeks alone, we’ve seen shocking attacks in Washington and the firebombing of a pro-Israel rally in Boulder. These are not isolated events. They are part of a frightening trend—and in times like these, our divisions are not only painful but also dangerous.

Throughout the Diaspora, since October 7, synagogues and communities—large and small—have rallied in support of us here in Israel. It doesn’t matter what flavor of Judaism they come from. Reform congregations in Ohio, Conservative ones in Georgia, Orthodox shuls in Southern California or New Jersey—Jews across North America have reached out with compassion, solidarity, and love.

They need to know that we hear their voices. We cherish their support. And we send that love right back. Despite the occasional and unfortunate comments made by a member of Knesset, their concern is evident, their kindness is felt, and their care is deeply appreciated. We love them, and we are grateful.

This week’s Torah reading reminds us that we’ve always had a tool to gather us: the chatzotzrot, the silver trumpets. In Parashat Beha’alotcha (Bamidbar 10:1–10), God commands Moshe to fashion two silver trumpets to summon the people—both in times of war and in times of joy. They were sounded to gather the community, to prepare for travel, to warn of danger, and to mark sacred celebrations.

The chatzotzrot didn’t distinguish between tribes, political camps, or religious affiliations. When they were sounded, every Jew was called to come together. Ramban points out that they were not merely ritual objects but national instruments—voices of unity across a diverse and often divided people.

Today, our communities may look different. Our calls may come via emails, WhatsApp messages, vigils, or letters of solidarity. But the need is the same. We must hear each other. Respond to one another’s pain. Celebrate one another’s joys. Stand together—not because we always agree, but because we are family.

Hillel Zeitlin (1871–1942), the Yiddish and Hebrew writer and poet who was murdered in the Holocaust, envisioned a renewed Jewish society grounded in the spiritual vision of the Baal Shem Tov (d.1760), the founder of Hasidism. Zeitlin taught that the Besht had three essential loves: love of God, love of Torah, and love of every Jew. These three cannot be separated. One cannot claim to love God or Torah while speaking with contempt about fellow Jews.

I am committed to Orthodox, halakhic Judaism. That commitment is central to my identity. But commitment does not mean exclusion. Theological differences do not excuse humiliation. Rabbi Kariv and the many non-Orthodox Jews he represents are not my opponents. They are my family.

Hillel taught: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, what am I?” The old battles over denominational boundaries are increasingly irrelevant. We are all in the same boat. And if we keep tearing at each other’s seats, we all sink.

In my yeshiva, we teach students to love Torah. But we also teach them to love the Jewish people. All of them. Because that is the only way Torah can endure. And it is the only way our people can thrive.

The more love we give, the more there is to give. It begins at home, with our own family. From there, it can spread outward to embrace all of humanity. But it starts with loving Jews—even the ones who challenge us most.

May we have the strength to listen before judging, to bless rather than curse, and to hold onto the Baal Shem Tov’s three loves as our guide.

Shabbat Shalom