We need to choose our friends more wisely

As a young Jew with a kippah on my head and a magen david around my neck, I have become an all-too-visible target for antisemites. Long before this war began, I have had coins hurled at me from car windows and Jewish slurs spat at me on my way home from work. Only last month a stranger stopped me to ask whether I had a visa to be in his country and a few weeks earlier, someone else pointed at my kippah and laughed. Both before and after October 7, people have constantly shouted “Free Palestine” in my face - always before they bother to ask about my political beliefs.

Despite having actually faced less harassment over the last 11 months than before, I feel more unsafe than ever: I choose to sit at the back of the bus so fewer people see my kippah; I tell stories about my gap year while carefully avoiding to mention where I spent it; and I deliberately avoid the main entrance of my university library to steer clear of being personally targeted with anti-Israel rhetoric.

My experience as a young Jew has become constrained by the shackles of identity politics that force me to constantly censor myself and conceal my identity. Although I may have been subject to less attacks, the language of antisemitism has become normalised around me… and that is terrifying.

Surrounded by blind hate, I keep asking myself how a war on the other side of the world has so profoundly impacted my life in Australia.

Is it because the Left has gaslighted our community by attempting to define Jewish oppression for us? Is it because the Right has exploited our suffering to score political points? Or is it because our own community perpetuates a narrative of victimhood that makes it nearly impossible to escape feelings of isolation? Perhaps, a combination of all three.

It’s become easy to blame the Left. Even if we were to overlook references to the “tentacles” of the “Jewish lobby” or the failure of many to condemn a terrorist organisation that calls for the genocide of Jewish people, it remains inexcusable that challenging the lived experiences of Jews has become normalised in progressive circles.

For a movement that prides itself on empowering minorities to speak for themselves and on recognising the role of discourse in perpetuating oppressive social norms, their activism has conspicuously excluded the Jewish voice.

Many of us feel abandoned by the leaders and institutions we thought we could trust. In turn, we have shifted from being a community at the forefront of human rights and social justice to a broken people battling with growing despondency every day.

In our Jewish echo chambers, we are suffocated by constant cries of antisemitism. And yet, we do not let ourselves escape this weight of Jewish suffering - partially because now is a time to look inwards and partially because we are too afraid to look out.

But we must be careful. As abandonment fuels loneliness and loneliness breeds desperation, the frame of moral rigour which usually informs Jewish interactions with the world can wane. In this vulnerable state, Jewish communities have begun to ally with anyone who positions themselves as champions of Israel and defenders of the ‘Jewish Faith’, without seeing that many instances of support result in exploitation rather than multicultural liberation.

When mainstream politicians imply a connection between the rise of antisemitism in Australia and the High Court’s ruling that indefinite detention is unlawful, they reveal their willingness to use Jews as pawns in their anti-immigration agendas. Such rhetoric only furthers the growing divide between Jews and other minority communities.

When many evangelical and messianic clergy voice their support for Zionism, they do so in the context of a theological imperative for Jews to return to Israel as a prerequisite for the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. Paradoxically, the Australian Christian Lobby still even hosts materials on its website suggesting that the “Jews plot[ed] to kill Jesus” while condemning antisemitism at the same time.

Evidently, support for the Jewish community has become an ideological tool and antisemitism has been weaponised for political gain. In our rightful criticism of the Left for tokenising the anti-Zionist Jew, it can be argued that we have become the token minority of the Right in the process. How else can we explain why so many conservative commentators are vocal supporters of Jewish people while simultaneously prejudiced against other minority communities?

This is not to imply that everyone who supports Jews or speaks out against antisemitism has ulterior motives. Indeed, it is vital to acknowledge and appreciate the support we receive from across the political and religious spectrum. Rather, this is a call for caution - to ensure that in forming new alliances, we do not unintentionally reinforce the very antisemitism we seek to combat.

This is also a call to pay closer attention to the values of those from whom we accept support. There is something deeply unsettling about the fact that many of our current allies are individuals who actively campaigned against the Voice, support indefinite detention for refugees, and adopt weak stances on LGBTQIA+ protections, among other questionable moral positions.

These views are antithetical to Judaism’s rich ethical teachings, which implore us to “welcome the stranger” and recognise the equality of all human beings as we are all created “in the image of the Divine”.

Even more troubling is the possibility of compromising our own moral principles in pursuit of friendship. Sometimes, it is legitimate to welcome unexpected friends and embrace the nuance of being able to agree on some issues while disagreeing on others. But often, we cannot always control how our alliances are perceived or which ideas we may unintentionally validate. Protecting our values may, then, necessitate taking greater care in choosing our allies, even if that means standing with fewer.

Now, more than ever, the Jewish community’s desire to be seen and heard is profound. I, too, long for validation and embrace. Yet, we must guard against allowing our yearning for affirmation blind us to the places from where we receive it. If support for our community is dependent on others exploiting our identity for their own ends, what happens when we are no longer of use? And if we sacrifice our values and distort our sense-of-self to gain acceptance, what does that say about who we have become?

The views expressed in this article are that of the author and not of any organisation with which he may be affiliated.