It’s
strange but true: We sometimes fail to acknowledge the most important thing in
the universe.
That
would be bechirah, Hashem’s astonishing
gift of free will to mankind. We humans are able to choose our actions and our
attitudes.
We
can certainly be stubborn creatures, and a mind is a hard thing to change. But
change it can.
That
truth was brought sharply home to me recently, in an e-mail interaction I had
with a Jewish person who lives in a faraway state.
“You
ARE ‘extreme and beyond normal and beyond mainstream’,” my correspondent wrote,
“misogynistic and ultra-conservative. You exclude anyone you consider ‘other’.”
“You
are,” the final line read, “not my tribe.”
What
evoked the irate missive was an op-ed, or opinion column, I wrote that was
published in the New York Times.
Therein
lies a tale.
Several
weeks ago, as a result of the efforts of respected lawyer Avi Schick and Chabad
media relations director Rabbi Motti Seligson, a small group of Orthodox
representatives met with members of the Times’
editorial board and staff. Joining the two organizers were Hamodia’s editor, Mrs. Ruth Lichtenstein; United Jewish
Organizations of Williamsburg executive director Rabbi Dovid Niederman; Agudath
Israel of America executive vice president Rabbi Chaim Dovid Zwiebel; and me.
The
meeting was intended to sensitize the other side of the table to the way some
of their newspaper’s characterizations of the chareidi community were inaccurate, even dangerous.
Each
of us visitors to the Times’ offices presented a bit of evidence or a
particular perspective. And at one point, in passing, I noted that the very
term used for us – “Ultra-Orthodox” – was subtly pejorative, since “ultra”
connotes “excess” or “beyond what is normal.”
At
that point, the op-ed page editor interjected, “Well, that would make an
interesting op-ed.”
In
my head, I responded, “You bet it would.”
And
so, two days later, I submitted an essay I had written, which focused not only on
the misuse of the prefix “ultra” but on other subtle “otherings” of the chareidi community, as well – like the
characterizations of us effectively as invaders simply for having chosen to buy
homes in new areas; and like calling the exercise of our democratic rights in
local elections “voting as a bloc” – a term never used when focusing on, say,
the black vote or Hispanic one.
I
received an avalanche of responses, almost all positive – from non-Jews and
Jews of all stripes alike.
One
memorable missive read, in part: I’m a
non-religious Catholic man… in the midst of a significant Jewish community. I’m
the regular Shabbos goy for several of my friends and neighbors… I got so many
good and new ways of seeing people from your editorial … [There is] so much
bias I have that I never thought about. I will look at people differently from
now on, or at least I will work on doing that as much as I am able.”
The
negative one excerpted earlier above was one of a small handful of angry reactions.
I
responded to all the communications, if only to thank the writers for writing. To
the irate correspondent quoted above, I sent the following:
“I don’t know how
many chassidic or non-chassidic haredi families you know, but your description
of them as misogynistic is well beyond a mere exaggeration. There are
traditional roles for men and for women in Orthodox communities, but both men
and women are fully valued and well-treated by both men and women. ‘Conservative’?
Well, yes. Is that a crime?
“Which brings me
back to the tribe. We don’t exclude any Jew from the Jewish people. You seem to
do that with your final sentence. But you are MY tribe.”
And,
signing off with “best wishes,” I clicked “send.”
I
didn’t expect any further communication, but the correspondent did respond,
first, with: “Thank you. You are the
first haredi Jew I have ever spoken with… Apologies for my preconceptions.”
And
then, after I acknowledged the writer’s good will, a second response: “Although I’m [Jewish] through my mother, my
parents took us to a Unitarian church and I have never embraced religion or
Judaism. Its strongest influence on my life has been through food. Perhaps that
will change now.”
Later,
the person wrote again, to say, “Apologies for my preconceptions” and to request
reading material about Yiddishkeit, a
request I immediately honored.
My
first, visceral reaction to attacks on Torah Jews or Torah life is a desire to
respond in kind, with ire, or, at least with wry repartee.
But
what I’ve learned over the years is that – why I ever doubted it, I don’t know
– Shlomo Hamelech was correct when he taught that a maaneh rach – “a gentle reply” – yashiv cheimah – “turns away wrath.”
That’s
something true not only in interactions like the one I had with the angry
correspondent, but in all our interpersonal dealings – within our families, in
our workplaces, with our friends and acquaintances. It’s also something I wish
I had fully recognized at a much earlier age than I did.
Not
every mind’s owner will choose to change it. But every one of them – there is bechirah, after all – can.
And
sometimes we can help make that change a little easier.
©
2020 Hamodia
