As the tide of antisemitism rises once more, a familiar question is posed: why do they hate the Jews? The answers are the same as before: ethnic and religious prejudice, political fanaticism, the conspiratorial mindset, each feeding and being fed by jealousy, ignorance and resentment.
That the explanation is well-rehearsed doesn’t make it outdated. Much as we might yearn for a more satisfying answer, something coldly rational that we can file away, case closed, antisemitism is not a philosophy arrived at by reason. In fact, it’s not a philosophy at all. It’s a volcanic madness that is always there, waiting to erupt at the first rumblings of societal instability, economic precarity, or spiritual disorder.
Instead of putting the antisemites on the psychologist’s couch yet again, there might be more to gain from flipping the question on its head: why doesn’t everyone love the Jews?
It’s a thought that has occurred to this gentile more than once because, truth be told, Jews are kind of awesome. God’s chosen people, original scribes and scholars of the Bible, defiers of pharaohs, and humblers of empires. Source of modern law and ethics; composers of some of civilisation’s finest music, art and literature; bearers of an ancient covenant across two millennia of exile. Survivors of extermination; revivers of a nation and a language; and innovators in agriculture, medicine and technology. All this, plus Gal Gadot. By rights, Jews should be regarded as the biggest bad-asses who ever walked the Earth.
Of course, this is a greatly oversimplified history but while it doesn’t tell the whole truth, it tells enough of it, and if it is possible to sustain centuries of antisemitism on lies there is surely sufficient truth to foster a culture of philosemitism.
Uh oh, I said the word. The word that makes some Jews shift uncomfortably in their seats and awkwardly clear their throats. The word that conjures up images of born-again Christians from Arkansas taking bus tours of the West Bank (sorry, Judea and Samaria), testing out their Duolingo Hebrew on bemused settlers, and praying for an in-gathering of the Jews to kick off the End Times. Considered in these terms, it’s entirely understandable that most Jews would invite philosemites to go philo someone else.
Thankfully, that is not what I had in mind. By philosemitism, I mean a respect and admiration for Jewish civilisation and its fruits; for the various cultural expressions this has taken; and for institutions, practices and teachings whose benefits stretch far beyond Jews and Jewish communities. It is a humble offer of friendship in a climate of fear and bigotry and indifference, not an intrusion or an imposition but a polite and decent expression of a stranger’s solidarity. Others see what is happening and they reject it. When you bear witness to this oldest of hatreds, you will not bear it alone.
This philosemitism should have no ulterior motive. It should ask for nothing in return. It should neither fetishise nor appropriate Jewish culture. Don’t angle for an invite to Shabbat dinner, start wearing a Magen David around your neck, or ask about converting. No one wants your recipe for matzah ball soup. (If it’s good matzah ball soup, your recipe is Joan Nathan’s.) Above all, don’t be weird. Jews aren’t an exotic tribe and you’re not David Attenborough. This is about solidarity, not cultural safari.
What does philosemitism look like in practical terms? For one, it is the instinct to learn, to counter the ignorance of others by addressing your own, and the impulse to pass on truth through teaching. It might sound trite but if you haven’t counselled your children in respect for Jewish people and revulsion for those who despise them, you haven’t counselled your children properly. For another, philosemitism is the refusal to remain silent when Jews are targeted for harm or hatred.
That public demonstration against antisemitism could do with another body to hold up a placard or make enough noise for officialdom to pay attention. Organisations that provide support or security to Jews and their communal spaces and services could use a few coins next time you’re feeling charitable.
That said, avoid the trap of allowing your philosemitism to mirror antisemitism. Friendship is about more than negating hatred and while it is important to take a stand against threats to Jews, do not see Jews as mere victims in need of shelter from the onslaughts of Jew haters. This is not only to guard against developing a saviour complex but because there is no longevity in a friendship of social issues and political problems.
A philosemite must wish to see and, where necessary, be prepared to help facilitate the flourishing of Jewish life and Jewish culture. Jonathan Sacks said: “The way a culture treats its Jews is the best indicator of its humanity or lack of it.” For the philosemite, this does not go far enough. The culture he inhabits must be humane, of course, but it must move beyond thinking of Jews as a minority to be accommodated and understand them as rightful co-authors of the culture.
A philosemitic culture is one in which Jews are not only free and equal and safe but also one in which a Jewish life, in whatever form that might take, can be lived unencumbered by the thought that there is anything remarkable about doing so.
Antisemitism cannot be downplayed but nor should it be allowed to define the Jewish experience, or eclipse the fond feelings of friendly strangers.
Stephen Daisley is a columnist for the Daily Mail and a regular contributor to The Spectator
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