The Quiet Part Out Loud

It’s time to say (to write) the quiet part out loud:

I don’t know – none of us really knows – how much antisemitism played a part in the non-choice of Governor Shapiro. To say that it’s not on our minds (collectively, individually), that we’re not wondering about it – quietly – or texting – furiously – that we’re not worrying about it, is a futile act of self-deception. Note to our other-Tribal friends: we are wondering, we are texting and we are worrying. While I deeply appreciate that some commentators haven’t sidestepped the issue, the majority of them are coming from other faith communities. In other words, it seems to be a hell of a lot easier for a Baptist to call out antisemitism than it is for a Jew.

Over decades of working in and for the Jewish community, I’ve been very, very wary about pushing the antisemitism button. Blithely labeling a word or a deed antisemitic diminishes the power of the word; if everything is antisemitic, then nothing is. At the same time, not calling it out when the intent is clear is even more insidiously dangerous. I appreciate our friends and neighbors who do recognize it, who do call it out – but my appreciation wears thin when those cries of It’s antisemitism! are delivered cynically, when they’re designed to stir a pot rather than to address society’s most ancient hatred. To those who are oh-so helpfully pointing out antisemitism, I say, Thank you very much, but we’ll be the judge. We get to say when a “micro aggression” is not micro at all – when a joke isn’t a joke, because our Jewish Spidey sense is based on 3,500 years of history, not paranoia. By the way, that same license to say when something is antisemitic also confers upon us the ability to say when it is not.

The wise, I’ve-seen-this-before generation (my father-in-law comes to mind) were uber-cautious about Jews rising to prominence. Correct that: too much prominence. And that’s the rub: where is the dividing line between prominence and too much prominence – and who the hell keeps moving that line, just when we thought we knew where it was? Let’s really say that quiet stuff out loud: a Jewish public official, the conventional wisdom goes, would have to bend over backward not to do something/say something/enact something “too Jewish” (and is that synonymous with “too Israel-supportive”?). A question that has me up at night: is that conventional wisdom mired in the past? Has society evolved? I’ve heard from very smart, very engaged, younger Jews that we should move past our fears. It wasn’t just Woody Allen who was worried about reading a Jewish surname in an article about a crime – my generation laughed when our parents leaned into such protective habits, and then we ended up doing the same thing. Will our children?

Two things can be true at the same time. It’s entirely possible that the decision to bring Governor Walz on board was a cold calculus designed to generate votes – and, there may very well have been antisemitic undertones to the decision. There is a very, very fine line between not choosing Governor Shapiro because of overt antisemitism, and not choosing him because of a worry that – because of antisemitism – his presence on the ticket will lose votes. Is it a distinction without a difference?

Nearly no one will explicitly – or even implicitly – admit that Shapiro should have been kept off the ticket because of Jew-hatred. The Pew Research Center has documented that six percent of Americans have a very or somewhat unfavorable opinion of Jews, though upwards of three-quarters of American Jews have experienced an increase in anti-Jewish discrimination. Social scientists are divided, but there are significant numbers who suggest that under-self-reporting of antisemitic leanings are to be expected. Read: don’t put too much stock in “only six percent.”

When Josh Shapiro referenced Pirke Avot in his speech in Philadelphia, I teared up. He told the 10,000 in the arena (and the who-knows-how-many viewing from home) that his faith has taught him that while we are not expected to complete the task, neither are we free to desist from the work entirely. It was probably too much to expect him to quote the phrase in Hebrew, but his teaching was preceded with a full-throated, I am proud of my faith.

As a teacher, madrich, camp director and head of school (I’m missing a few gigs – I just can’t hold onto a job), I’ve learned that the real, long-lasting method to combat antisemitism is through education – and pride. Josh learned that lesson, in spades. And like any good student, he’s now become the teacher.