Beyond the Labels: A Lesson in Jewish Unity

We were standing in a shopping mall in central Israel, filming a video about unity. We stopped people and asked them simple questions: What does unity mean to you? What has changed in you since Simchat Torah 5784? Do you believe in redemption? And what is the greatest lesson you have taken with you since October 7?

I came with certain expectations, I admit. Despite all the headlines, the television studios, and the endless noise, I have always believed that there is far more love among the Jewish people than we are led to believe. I never believed that the division we constantly hear about tells the full story of who we are. Especially after everything we have been through. After the national pain, the loss, and the extraordinary acts of courage, I was certain that we had learned something and that we had grown.

How Quickly We Judge One Another

And then came the questions. Not the questions I was asking. The questions people asked me. Or, more accurately, hurled at me.

“Where is your husband? Was he called up?”

“Do your sons serve in the army?”

“Do you even contribute to the country?”

“Do you pay taxes?”

“Does your husband just sit and learn Torah?”

I have to say, I had never been attacked like that before. It was not only what was said. It was primarily the way it was said.

For a moment, I did not know whether to answer. I could have explained where my family members were and why. But something inside me refused to put all of that on display. I did not want to prove that I was “okay,” nor did I want to prove that I was “not okay.” I did not want to justify my existence to someone who had never asked who I was before deciding who I must be.

And suddenly I realized how quickly we label people. How quickly we see clothing, a particular community, a kippah, a wig, a tattoo, or a flag, and immediately fill in the rest of the story in our minds.

I admit it, it hurt deeply.

In Parashat Ki Teitzei, we encounter a long series of mitzvot dealing with relationships between one person and another: returning lost property, refusing to look the other way, preserving another person’s dignity, and taking responsibility even for people we do not know. It is almost as though the Torah is whispering to us that the greatest battles do not really begin on the battlefield. They begin in the way we look at the person standing in front of us.

The Jewish people have always known how to disagree. Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai disagreed on countless issues, yet our Sages declared, “These and those are the words of the living God.” Disagreement did not destroy us. What destroyed us was the moment we stopped seeing the person behind the disagreement.

The Baal Shem Tov taught that everything a person sees in the world can serve as a mirror. If I encountered judgment from others, perhaps I should also ask myself: Where am I judgmental? Where have I already decided who the person in front of me is before I have even heard their story?

It is not an easy question. It is much easier to point outward. It is far more difficult to consider that Hashem may bring certain encounters into our lives because they contain lessons for us.

Choosing to See the Good

Perhaps that is also part of the work of the month of teshuvah: spending less time searching for who else needs to change and asking instead what I can correct within myself.

And choosing to see all the good people we met that day. Religious and nonreligious. Young and old. People who spoke about the Beit Hamikdash with shining eyes, who spoke about redemption with genuine longing, and who expressed their desire to live here together despite everything.

I refuse to allow a few painful encounters to erase all that goodness.

Hope is not naïveté. It is a choice. A choice to believe that beneath all the layers of fear and anger, one Jewish heart is still beating.

And perhaps this, too, is part of the meaning of “Ki Teitzei,” “When you go out.” Every time we go out into the world, we are going out to encounter another person.

The important question is not only whom we will meet, but with what kind of eyes we will choose to see them.

May we always merit to look at one another with a generous and compassionate eye.