When Hatred Takes a Seat at The Shabbat Table

“Sometimes ethnic cleansing is a good thing.” The words hung in the air, as the rest of the guests anxiously awaited a response. Up until this point, the Shabbat meal had been one of the most pleasant I’d ever attended — good conversation, full of laughter and stories. But this comment shifted the focus from light banter to serious political rhetoric. It felt like no one knew what to do.

When I moved to Efrat almost five years ago, I was an optimist. Although the settlements were not a regular feature in my mind, I prayed for the best. In those days, many of the neighboring Arab workers entered Efrat daily for work. The project manager of our building was named Ahmed, and our cleaner and the owner of the local hardware store were all Arab. These relationships felt like the reason we moved here.

Prior to our move, we knew and trusted the town rabbi, Rabbi Riskin, when it came to these issues. He unabashedly believed that this was our land, but not only ours. He placed ultimate value on relationships with our neighbors. The town just to our east is Wadi Niis. Rabbi Riskin made a point of meeting and befriending the Mufti of the town when Efrat was established. That connection remained strong until Oct. 7.

Those days feel like an eternity from now. Since the attacks on Simchat Torah, almost no Arab workers have been granted entrance into Efrat. The gate just behind our apartment remains empty. And as he’s advanced in age, Rabbi Riskin’s voice has been silent for some time.

As with all things, something has filled the void. The other rabbis in town have made their feelings known on the issue. One such statement from the pulpit compared Sdom and Amora to Gaza to indicate lack of innocents in both regions. Another claim was that one day, we’ll need to deal with the Arab communities surrounding Efrat. Even though I’m troubled by the heightened tensions in our region and the apparent scarcity of righteous Gazans, statements such as these implicate all Arabs and have dangerous moral implications.

Yachya Sinwar’s death felt like a turning point in some ways. The feeling of elation was palpable. We had finally eliminated the mastermind of Oct. 7. But as with all of the prior military successes, I felt a need for restraint. “We shouldn’t celebrate the death of our enemies," I told a close friend. He asked if I ate Hamentashen. I understood how this tradition glorifies the death of Hamen; however, somehow it felt different to me, even when Purim came around.

Since hearing these rabbinic statements, I’ve spoken to many, trying to get a sense of where the community is on the issue. Most downplay the severity, seeing it as no more than empty words. “It’s not like those middle-aged American-transplant congregants are going to take up arms against our Arab neighbors,” I’ve been told. But my concern is with these congregants’ children. They’re presently entering the army and how they view the “other” may very well have serious consequences.

I understand the sentiment of wanting revenge. So many in the country have lost family members and friends from both the terror attacks and the war. The amount of bloodshed seems unending. Sometimes it feels like the only answer is to fight fire with fire. However, this is not a solution. It only leads to more violence and death.

Rabbi Leo Dee is a friend and colleague who also lives in the neighborhood. It feels like just yesterday that half of his family was viciously murdered. At that time, it seemed as if things couldn’t get any darker — and then Oct. 7 was like a thousand Dee families at once. But Leo never lost his way. He’s demanded strong responses to acts of terror, but doesn’t paint all Arabs with one brush. If there’s anyone who would be justified in seeking revenge it would be he, and yet he doesn’t. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. He’s worked to bridge the gaps between our two peoples.

If for no other reason, rhetoric about wiping out our enemies needs to stop for practical purposes. The world has turned against Israel and continues to peddle lies about the genocide we’ve carried out in Gaza. Just recently, a mayor in California’s Bay area amplified online hate, by resharing a statement claiming, “The root cause of antisemitism is the behaviour of Israel and Israelis.” Treating all Arabs as the enemy gives people like this the excuse they so desperately desire.

When the Shabbat lunch guest made light of ethnic cleansing, I did something uncharacteristic: I paused for a moment, to see what would happen. I usually can’t help but say something when I passionately disagree. As the meal came to a screeching halt and everyone looked at each other, the host responded better than I ever could. “The Arab issue is a symptom of a larger internal problem in ourselves,” he said. “When we fix what’s wrong with us, then the conflict will go away.” 

If there’s one thing we agree on, it’s that we are faced with massive internal problems. I’m not sure if solving them will concurrently fix Arab/Jewish relations. But what won’t fix the world is wiping out an entire group of people. As rabbis like Leo Dee and Rabbi Riskin continue to teach us, the only way out of this mess is together.