The rapid influx of African refugees and migrants have handed Israel a genuine dilemma. The debate regarding how to handle this dilemma has already begun.
However, of greater concern than the specific arguments of this debate, is the shocking, naked racism it has exposed across all levels of Israeli society.
From elected officials to street protestors, from the highly educated, secular upper class to yeshiva students and the working poor, all classes of Israelis seem to share an intellectual framework that denigrates and dehumanizes Africans, belittles their suffering, and trivializes their plight.
This blatant racism should sound a frightening alarm for Israeli society. It should tell us that something is seriously amiss in the core of our culture.
When such vile speech boils over into outright acts of physical brutality, how can we fail to realize that we must, as a society, engage in introspection and self-evaluation?
I hesitate to write the following lines because I believe that everything I have to say should be self-evident. It is inappropriate to write a formal, religious article about values that should be so elementary as to require no explanation. Yet, in light of the apparent need for this article, I have decided to compose it. I write with a heavy heart and little originality; most of what can be said on this subject should already be known to anyone with a passing familiarity of Jewish texts.
The Torah tells us that God chose Abraham because he was confident that he would instruct his descendants to follow a path of righteousness and kindness (Genesis 18:19). The midrash (Devarim Rabba 3:4) takes this further, saying that there are 3 distinctive characteristics of the Jewish people: they are meek, merciful, and kind.
The Torah reiterates that Jews should be especially sensitive and caring towards the stranger in their midst, for we ourselves were once strangers in the land of Egypt. Rashi (Exodus 22:20) understands that the salient feature of a "stranger" is that he is displaced from his homeland. That is why the strangers – in this case African refuges and migrants – are deserving of special compassion.
Other rabbinic interpretations focus this message on the convert to Judaism. Nonetheless, Rashi's simple reading of the verse still stands: considering our own unique history of oppression, a majority Jewish country must be especially sensitive to the rights of minority groups.
Performing acts of kindness in a discriminatory manner is seen as a sign of corruption. Even though its name means "the kind one," the chasida (commonly translated as stork) is singled out as a non-kosher bird, because, according to our rabbis, it is kind only to its own species. Kindness towards only one's own species is transformed into a perverse act when it is part of a pattern of abuse towards outsiders.
Above and beyond asking us to perfect our actions, our rabbis were concerned with the very nature of our speech. They repeatedly implored us to speak respectfully to, and of, every person. In tractate Avot, they reminded us to greet every person with a welcoming face. The rabbis also told us that the most honored person is one who honors others.
In tractate Yoma (86a), the rabbis went much further by singling out the public disgrace of God's name as one transgression that cannot be atoned. What constitutes such a transgression? A devout and pious person who does not act with integrity or speak gently with others. Outrageous racist statements, parroted from the most disgraceful historical antecedents, certainly run afoul of this teaching.
Building Israel as a utopian Jewish nation should not entail inflicting suffering on others.
Rambam (Hil. Melachim 12:4) writes that the sages and prophets did not desire the messianic era of Israel "in order to conquer the entire world, or to oppress the gentiles…," rather only "to be free to study the Torah and its wisdom without persecution and interruption, and thus merit the world to come."
Our character as a Jewish nation does not depend on our contempt and disdain for non-Jews living in our midst. On the contrary, it depends on our fulfillment of our own tradition; a tradition that calls on us to show respect, support, and compassion for non-Jews.
It is a tragic sign of our times that such basic, moral lessons must be based on scriptural and Talmudic evidence rather than on common sense and human compassion.
We must introspect and rededicate ourselves to the basic truths written in our Torah and in our hearts.
Rather than weakening our identity as Jews, compassion for all humans – especially those of disadvantaged groups – strengthens and affirms our Jewish identity.
The writer is a rabbi living in Alon Shvut and an active volunteer supporting Blessing's Day Care.