Antisemitism Now and Then

My father, Elliot Klayman, has devoted himself to helping people navigate life’s challenges, to generously offering spiritual and legal counsel, and to teaching the law, the Bible, and Jewish Studies. I have chosen to offer this personal story, including a relevant scriptural exploration, as a tribute essay because it incorporates these areas that have animated my father’s life: the scriptures, Jewish concerns, the justice system, and a personal challenge through which he was for me a pillar of spiritual and legal guidance.

Antisemitism Now

It all started Saturday night, November 3, 2018, around 10:00 PM, when I glanced at my phone and to my surprise found a text string had blown up among our staff. An unwelcome visitor had just pressed the buzzer at our synagogue and spewed antisemitic hate speech in front of the surveillance camera that recorded his every word. The perpetrator’s threatening words included the demands that our synagogue community, “Get out of the government!” and “Get out of our country!” The local police department leapt into action, quickly apprehended the individual—whom they found had also disseminated pro-Nazi flyers and had been involved in burning a cross in a local park—and by Monday evening the incident was a major story on every local newscast.

Now, I know that no Jewish community is immune to antisemitism. But, still, my very first reaction was, “Blatant antisemitism directed at us? Here?” Our synagogue, Congregation Sha’arei Shalom, is located in Cary, North Carolina, in the heart of what is called “the Research Triangle.” With a population of over two million, the area is known for top-tier universities, world-class medical centers, and trailblazing research and technology. It is consistently named among the top five most educated places in the country.1 Overt antisemitism is as unlikely here as it is in . . . well . . . Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, or Poway, California.

I wish I could report that our brush with antisemitism ended after that first episode, but it didn’t. Just a few weeks later a woman came to the synagogue on a weekday, in broad daylight (thankfully while our office staff was on vacation), heaved bricks through two of our front windows, and spray-painted profanity on our front doors and sidewalk. When the police questioned her, she said that she did it because she despises “people of other religions and ethnic backgrounds.”

It was like déjà vu, only this time the media coverage had far greater reach. Because in this second incident words had transformed into damage to physical property, the vandalism received coverage in the Jewish press all over the U.S. and in international outlets, including the Jerusalem Post.2 Our leadership was now having personal meetings with the chief of our local police, the district attorney, as well as local FBI and Homeland Security agents.

Why us? Apparently, when these two perpetrators—who have no connection to one another—did an internet search of a phrase like “Jewish synagogue in Cary,” ours was simply the most accessible to them. And so we took a hit twice for the Jewish community in the Triangle.

I wish that antisemitism were not a timely issue. Unfortunately, recent statistics suggest that we at Sha’arei Shalom are not alone in our harrowing experience. Antisemitism is not abating. The FBI reports that in 2018, “anti-Jewish” hate crimes represented 57.8% of all hate crimes motivated by religious bias.3 In 2019, the percentage rose to 60.3%. This is far and away the leading type of religion-based hate crime, with anti-Islamic offenses coming in second at 13.3% that year.4 According to the Anti-Defamation League, in 2019, antisemitic incidents reached an all-time high in the United States with over 2,100 reported assaults, vandalisms, and harassments. This amounts to a 12% increase from 2018, which itself is one of the worst years on record.5 On January 6, 2021, antisemitic messages and symbols adorned members of the mob that attacked the U.S. Capitol Building in an attempt to subvert Congress’ certification of the results of the 2020 election.6

I was raised in a Messianic Jewish home in Columbus, Ohio. I can say of myself the same thing that my father said of himself in a published autobiographical spoken word poem: “Born of parents I did not choose caused me to be counted among the Jews.”7 I do not remember a time when I was not aware of antisemitism’s existence and effects upon my family. I grew up hearing the story of my paternal grandfather leaving Belarus because of pogroms, and my maternal grandfather leaving Harvard University after encountering antisemitism repeatedly. My spouse, Rachael, is the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors and her grandparents’ story is an ever-present source of pain in the life of her family.

But my personal experience has been different. In over four decades of life, I can recall only one instance of a person remarking to me that he “jewed” a person down. Now, as the leader of a Messianic Jewish congregational community that has been on the receiving end of specific and targeted threats and vandalism, things have changed for me. Thankfully, no person was harmed, property can be replaced, and heightened security measures have thus far proven effective. But, the general and historic Jewish experience of antisemitism that we learn about in history classes, read about in the news, and hear about in family narratives, has become, in some small way, a part of my own experience.

What is Antisemitism?

One of my first responses to our encounters with antisemitism was to help our congregation gain a deeper understanding of antisemitism and its history. The word “antisemitism” came into use in late-19th century Europe. By that time, the word “Semite” had come to be used specifically to refer to Jewish people, culture, customs, and ways of being. On a literal level, “antisemitism” means “against Jews.” A more robust definition would be “hatred or dislike of, or hostility toward, Jewish people.” Antisemitism should not be associated only with swastika armbands and Ku Klux Klan hoods. It exists in varying degrees that can range from intense hatred to mild dislike or even to the unintentional harboring of negative views toward Jewish people. Antisemitism can live in the form of beliefs, ideology, prejudicial thoughts, or veiled hostility. It can be released in individual or collective words and actions such as slurs, discrimination, physical attack, and—as we learned in the middle of the last century—even dehumanization.

Antisemitism Then

As a student of the Bible and Jewish life during the Second Temple Period of Jewish history, I am particularly interested in what we might term the “roots” of modern-day antisemitism, or antisemitism’s “proto-history.” My study led me, among other places, to one verse in the Book of Esther—a verse that bears features strikingly relevant to the antisemitism of today, and specifically to the manifestation of it that our congregation encountered.8

The Book of Esther contains one of the best-known stories within the Hebrew Bible. The events of the book are set in the Persian Period of Jewish history. Esther, the Jewish Queen of Persia, risks her life to thwart a plot by a royal official named Haman, who had formulated a plan to annihilate the Jewish community. Ultimately, Esther’s intervention is successful, as her husband, the King of Persia, executes Haman and grants the Jewish community the right to defend itself against its attackers. In Judaism, this victory is celebrated annually during the holiday of Purim. The book is beloved by many Christians who find in it spiritual lessons for followers of Jesus and “Christ-like” qualities in the figure of Esther. While often questioning the historicity of events depicted in the Book of Esther, biblical scholars generally recognize the book’s profound and intricate literary artistry.

At the beginning of the book, Haman’s stature within the royal administration is on the rise. Haman, portrayed as having an inflated ego, becomes irate when a Jewish man named Mordecai, the cousin of Esther, refuses to pay homage to Haman. That’s when Haman determines that the target of his ire will not be Mordecai alone, but all of Mordecai’s people in the realm. Haman says to the king, “There is a certain people scattered and separated among the peoples in all the provinces of your kingdom; their laws are different from those of every other people, and they do not keep the king’s laws, so that it is not appropriate for the king to tolerate them” (Esth 3:8 NRSV).

Haman’s words articulate virtually every root characteristic of antisemitism. These words have the force of portraying Haman as the progenitor of antisemitism. Breaking down Esther 3:8 phrase by phrase reveals what we might call the “Five Twisted Ds of Antisemitism.” For simplicity’s sake, I’ve named each characteristic with a word beginning with the letter “D.” I use the term “twisted” because, like any counterfeit, the characteristics may contain a kernel of truth but that truth is perverted in a way that is destructive. In this reflection on Esther 3:8, I will (1) name each characteristic of antisemitism found in the verse, (2) italicize the phrase within that verse from which I am deriving the characteristic, and (3) offer a comment about that characteristic and its modern iterations.

1. A Distinct People

“There is a certain people . . .”

The first twisted “D” of antisemitism identifies the Jewish people as a distinct people. That is, Jewish people are considered different than all other people. There is of course truth to the concept of Jewish distinctiveness. The descendants of Abraham and Sarah through Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Leah, Rachel, Bilhah, and Zilpah, constitute a people called to be set apart for God’s service, to mediate God’s work in the world. In its biblical contexts, one of the primary purposes of Jewish distinctiveness is to be a blessing to the nations of the earth.

What the NRSV translates “a certain people” is in Hebrew “am echad ”—literally “one people.” A similar phrase, “goy echad,” is employed in Jewish liturgy as a positive feature of Jewish distinctiveness throughout the ages.9 The “distinction” that Haman identifies, however, carries a negative connotation. From his disdain for one Jewish person (Mordecai), Haman extrapolates a disdain for “the Jews” as a people. In the view ascribed to Haman, distinction is a bad thing and the very existence of Jewish distinctiveness is dangerous. The negative slant on am echad is that Jewish otherness is deplorable.

Note that in the second antisemitic incident that our congregation experienced, the assailant told police that she despises “people of other religions and ethnic backgrounds” (my emphasis). Historically, in extreme forms, the twisted idea of inherent Jewish difference can be found in depictions of stereotypical “Jewish” facial features. Such images are well-known from Nazi-era antisemitic media. Such characterizations are not only a thing of the past. As recently as the year 2020, a Jewish senatorial candidate’s nose was elongated in an ad by his political opponent.10 In the most horrific examples, Jewish difference amounts to the views that Jewish people constitute a “degenerate Jewish race.”

2. A Dispersed People

“. . . scattered and separated among the peoples in all the provinces of your kingdom . . .”

The second twisted “D” of antisemitism emphasizes that Jewish people are a dispersed people. To be sure, the age-old expectation of Jewish people being regathered to the land God promised to Abraham runs deep and strong. However, dispersion among the nations has been a reality for Jewish people throughout our history. Although today there are more Jewish people residing in Israel than in any other nation, the Jewish population in Israel still comprises under 50% of worldwide Jewry.11 Historically, Jewish communities throughout the world have sought to negotiate the tensions of Jewish distinctiveness and adjustment, accommodation, and acculturation in their respective locales. The Jewish presence throughout the nations has very often been beneficial for Jewish people and the wider communities of which they become a part.

The words attributed to Haman twist the reality of Jewish dispersion into meaning that Jews don’t belong and their dispersion among other peoples is inherently distasteful to those peoples. In other words, Haman’s words have the force of calling Jewish people unwelcome, unwanted, and unacceptable. The implication is that “Jews shouldn’t be here.”

In the first antisemitic incident that our congregation experienced, the perpetrator demanded that Jews “Get out of ‘our’ country!” The word “our” is noteworthy because it expresses plainly the warped view that although Jewish people and institutions may be present in a place like the United States, they absolutely don’t belong here. Throughout history, the negative twist on Jewish dispersion has led to mistreatment, discrimination, persecution, and expulsion after expulsion.

3. A Different Way of Life

“. . . their laws are different from those of every other people . . .”

The third twisted “D” of antisemitism is that Jewish people have a different way of life. The Torah has always been God’s gift to the Jewish people, and traditional Judaism has always viewed it as the foundational instruction for every aspect of life. Halakhah, traditional rabbinic law, is instrumental in not only preserving the Jewish people but also in many instances helping us to flourish as a people. Historically, even non-religious Jews have often been shaped by and employed traditional Torah-based Jewish values to bring great benefit to the world. Generally speaking, Messianic Jews—many of whom are even very critical of rabbinic Judaism—affirm many traditional Jewish practices and interpretations of the Scriptures.

In the view attributed to Haman, however, the practices engendered by Jewish fidelity to the Torah are suspect. A different way of life is viewed as deviant. Jewish people are considered to be out of harmony with other people’s ways of life. Jewish people’s lifestyle is viewed as incongruous with the dominant society and culture. As this view moves further down the spectrum of antisemitism, Jewish customs arouse great suspicion. Accusations of religious “legalism” or “hypocrisy,” for example, can stem from this negative perspective on different practices. In extreme cases, Jewish practices can be viewed as heinous and evil. The blood libels are an example of this. Blood libels are accusations that Jewish people kidnap and murder Christians around Passover and use their blood to make matzah. These accusations were most common in medieval Christian Europe and they served to incite persecutions of Jews. Lest we imagine such unthinkable lies are a thing of the past, the last recorded blood libel accusation that my cursory search turned up occurred in 2012.12

4. A People Disloyal to the State

“. . . and they do not keep the king’s laws . . .”

The fourth twisted “D” of antisemitism characterizes Jewish people as disloyal to the government in the place where they live. To be sure, fidelity to the Torah in no way precludes upholding federal, state, and local laws in a society that seeks to establish justice. There is a well-known rabbinic principle called “dina d’malkhutah dina”—“the law of the country is the law.” This principle is rooted in Jeremiah 29:7 (“seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile”), developed in the Talmud, and clarified in medieval codes of Jewish law. In the event that a law or laws are unjust and civil disobedience becomes necessary, it has always been the case that the injustice is not a distinctively Jewish concern.

The implication of the words ascribed to Haman is that Jewish people are political dissidents. Therefore, they are harmful to the societies in which they live and they cannot be trusted. Jewish law and the legal system in a given nation are pitted against one another. Recall that our congregation’s aggressor shouted, “Get out of the government!” This implies the belief that Jewish people are present in the government in order to subvert the government. The demand is rooted in the classic trope of “disloyalty.”

This characteristic of antisemitism is expressed in modern times when Jewish people are disproportionately singled out and criticized for their involvement in movements supporting social change. Why, for example, does the Jewish billionaire George Soros become the prime target of those who decry liberal causes when Soros is one of many large donors to liberal causes?13 Conspiracy theories about Jewish “control” of the media or financial systems stem from the root of the idea of disloyalty, as do ideologies that draw on terminology and phrases that include the words “cabal,” “globalists,” and sometimes “elites.”

5. A Dispensable People

“. . . so that it is not appropriate for the king to tolerate them.”

The fifth twisted “D” of antisemitism is that Jewish people are dispensable. It is the thinking behind our assailant’s demands to “Get out!” At its worst, the view that Jewish people are dispensable can lead, and has led, to a most heinous end result: dehumanization and attempted annihilation. In the story of Esther, the attempt at annihilation of the Jewish community was greatly impeded before it began. The most ghastly attempt at annihilation of the Jewish people did not occur in ancient times. We need only look to the European Holocaust in the middle of the 20th century, which wiped out nearly one-third of world Jewry and nearly two-thirds of European Jewry.

Setting our congregation’s experience, and other modern examples of antisemitism, against the backdrop of Esther 3:8 reveals some disheartening yet important points. First, from its proto-history until today, primary characteristics of antisemitism remain stable, and expressions of antisemitism are strikingly consistent. In spite of this, antisemitic language still very often flies under the radar. The more we are familiar with the hallmark features of antisemitism, the more equipped we are to identify it. Second, the problem of antisemitism remains acute. I have invoked familiar examples and emphasized the Jewish experience in the United States. Unfortunately, were we to broaden the scope historically and geographically, we would find that antisemitism is not decreasing. Third, Messianic Jews face antisemitism along with other Jews. This has been the reality as long as there have been Jewish people who identify as Jews regardless of where they live, when they live, or what they believe.

Responding to Antisemitism Now

How should we respond to antisemitism, whether we have experienced it personally, or are simply personally aware of its prevalence and intensity? I’ve learned, first, that we’ve got to speak out against antisemitism whenever it brushes us, even ever so slightly. Our experience in North Carolina, harrowing as it was for us, cannot and should not be compared to so many other experiences that are incomparably worse. But, whatever the gravity, we’ve got to call it out. Personally, my definition of a nightmare is to pull into our synagogue parking lot and be faced with a dozen or so cameras and reporters. But I knew that we had to speak out publicly and forcefully. The incidents had to be on the news. We had to clearly label what happened “antisemitism.” That way, the evil is exposed so that people realize it’s there and people of goodwill can join in confronting it. It’s for the good of Jewish communities everywhere.

I learned, secondly, that Messianic Jews do well to speak out as Messianic Jews. Within our communities, being Jewish and following Yeshua is the air we breathe and there is nothing more logical. But, of course, not everyone in the world agrees. When we speak out as Messianic Jews, not only does it identify us as Jews, it also upholds the truth of the compatibility of Jewish commitment and Yeshua-faith.

In my experience, the reporters with whom I spoke had little to no understanding of Messianic Judaism. In every single interview, I intentionally initiated telling the reporters that we are a Messianic Jewish synagogue, and I explained what that means. I even gave reporters a heads-up that if they chose to report on us as a synagogue, and refer to me as a rabbi, they would likely experience backlash from some in the Jewish community. One of the few reporters who understood the sensitivity thanked me for what he called the integrity of explaining these intricacies to all of the reporters.

There’s a third important lesson about the way we speak out. We’ve got to do it with a spirit and mentality that’s free from paranoia about physical security and free from malice toward the perpetrator(s). Yes, security is important. In our congregation, we have instituted new security measures. And, yes, we wanted justice to be served to the defendants in these cases. When the district attorney was in the process of offering one of the defendants a deal to plead guilty to vandalism and the state would then drop the charge that North Carolina calls “ethnic intimidation,” we intervened and prevailed upon the DA, saying, “it’s the ethnic intimidation charge that’s far more of a threat to the community at large!” And the DA changed course.

Being free from paranoia doesn’t mean being unwise about safety and being free of malice doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be consequences for the defendants. But I am especially concerned about our own souls. I’ve seen first-hand that when we’re governed by fear of antisemitism, it doesn’t hurt anyone more than it hurts us. And I’ve seen how those who advocate building a fortress of isolation would separate us from all the unique and positive contributions we as Messianic Jews bring to this world. What if the reality of antisemitism awakens us to greater confidence in the Lord, to greater investment in the causes of our people, and greater resolve in our calling?

A final lesson I learned about speaking out is that we’ve got to do it with an awareness that we’re not the only ones being targeted right now. At present, other minority groups—especially people of color—are being targeted and suffering. Available statistics indicate that the overwhelming majority of reported antisemitic incidents are committed by white supremacists or people influenced by them. That was our congregation’s experience. Therefore, far more often than not, where there is antisemitism, there is also racism, bigotry, hatred of the LGBTQ+ community, and intolerance of people of other religions and ethnicities. The Torah says that our own experience of oppression should result in empathy for others who are experiencing marginalization. Even as we decry antisemitism, this is not a competition of which group wins the world championship of victimization. The empathy to which the Torah calls us does not lead us to minimize or ignore the suffering of others. What do we call people who deny Jewish suffering? We call them antisemites, of course! Why would we deny another group’s suffering? Why would we not stand up in solidarity with peoples who are being targeted? Why would we not speak out against other malevolent “isms”? We must speak out conscious of the fact that our voice can and must help others.

The Victim Impact Statement that I presented in court serves as a fitting conclusion. It represents my attempt to articulate the weight of the experience while carefully navigating the myriads of pressures and considerations that I have sought to draw out in this essay. I sincerely hope that no reader will have need to turn to this statement for guidance after being the victim of a hate-crime, but I offer it in the hope that it will be helpful, clarifying, or inspiring.

May it please the Court.

As the rabbi of Congregation Sha’arei Shalom, a Messianic Jewish synagogue here in Wake County, I address the Court on behalf of our congregants present this morning and all of our member families.

On the morning of November 3, 2018, in our weekly Shabbat service, we, as a community, mourned the eleven people who were murdered one week prior at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh in the most deadly attack on a Jewish community in American history. Just hours after our memorial service, Mr. John Doe approached our synagogue and pressed the buzzer at the main entrance. When a staff member, who answered remotely, kindly asked, “can I help you?” Mr. Doe’s reply—which was captured clearly on audio and video—included the threatening words, “get out of the government, get out of Cary, get out of our country.” Mr. Doe targeted our synagogue because he identified us as a Jewish house of worship. As any student of Jewish history will attest, these vile phrases, directed toward a Jewish congregation, are classic and unambiguous antisemitic threats.

Thankfully, Mr. Doe’s antisemitic outburst did not result in physical harm to people or property. However, the far-reaching influence and damage of his words is impossible to quantify. We may never know if Mr. Doe’s offense, along with the widespread local media attention it received, played any role in inspiring an antisemitic attack against our community a few weeks later, which included vandalism and defacement of the synagogue’s physical property. The wide circle of our local congregational community encompasses 200–250 people. This does not include the thousands of people worldwide who identify with us as a flagship Messianic Jewish synagogue in the United States. Our community life has now changed. We have more regular, direct contact with local police and the FBI; we have hired uniformed officers more frequently for our public gatherings; we have increased video surveillance; our doors are never unlocked while our staff members are in the office during the week; we have tightened security protocols for our children.

A number of our members have relatives who experienced persecution because they were Jews: the Holocaust in Europe, pogroms and other persecutions abroad, as well as antisemitism here in the United States. Mr. Doe’s aspersions have resurrected latent concerns that we, as Jews, carry from our historic experience as a people. History has shown that hatred, bigotry, and intolerance can be a gateway to unconscionable destruction. That is why we believe that the legal category “Class 1 Misdemeanor” does not adequately convey the moral reprehensibility of Mr. Doe’s offense. I do not claim to speak on behalf of any community beyond our own synagogue. But, for the sake of Jewish communities everywhere, who continue to endure an alarming spike in antisemitic attacks, and for the sake of all those who are being targeted because of difference, we speak out against hate-fueled words, such as those that Mr. Doe directed toward us. We are compelled to continue to publicize, rather than conceal, incidents such as this one, so that the Court, and all citizens, are aware that dangerous intolerance remains a present reality in our cities. Once equipped with this awareness, all people of goodwill can be even more vigilant, stand up for one another, and join together to oppose such evil with good.

Our opposition to Mr. Doe’s words should not be misconstrued as opposition to Mr. Doe as a human being. We have never operated out of ill-will toward Mr. Doe, nor have we advocated for punitive measures that would likely fail to help him change and heal. We would like Mr. Doe to know that we are not filled with anger toward him. Quite the contrary. We sympathize with Mr. Doe, and with his family, through his mental health struggles. We are glad that he is receiving, and will continue to receive, the care he needs. At the same time, we reject the notion that the bigotry Mr. Doe has exhibited is a result of his mental illness. Mental illness is not moral illness. Our hope is that Mr. Doe will experience, as we say, a refu’ah sh’leimah—a complete healing, psychologically and spiritually. Our prayer is that his destructive ideology will be transformed into a life devoted to constructive acts of loving kindness. As a community of faith, we are confident that it is possible for Mr. Doe to experience a liberating and lasting inner change that results in love for all people. In our community, we believe this is possible with God and the salvation God offers to all.

If Mr. Doe would like to extend an apology to our community, then, at the appropriate time, we would like to explore the fruits of that apology with him through appropriate channels of communication beyond the legal sphere. We want him to know that we stand ready and eager to forgive him. He can count us among those who are cheering for him to turn his life around. Through the olive branch we are extending, and the touch of the Almighty in his life, we hope that the ultimate outcome of all of this will be redemptive for Mr. Doe, and that our local community might give the world one more story of the ascendance of love, hope, and healing.

Thank you, Your Honor.

Rabbi Dr. Seth N. Klayman

Congregation Sha’arei Shalom
Cary, North Carolina

Seth N. Klayman serves as the rabbi of Congregation Sha’arei Shalom in Cary, NC. He is also Adjunct Professor of Messianic Jewish Studies at The King’s University in Southlake, TX, and Adjunct Instructor of Religion in the Department of Religion and Philosophy at High Point University in High Point, NC. Seth holds a Ph.D. from Duke University and rabbinical ordination through the Union of Messianic Jewish Congregations. He and his spouse Rachael Waldman have three children, all of whom dearly love their “saba” (Rabbi Elliot Klayman), and are coming of age in a religious landscape with space for them because of his fifty years of service.