Standing in a room filled with miniature furniture and vibrant picture books, a wave of apprehension washed over me. Everyone around me was unfamiliar, and the child across from me sported bright red, spiky hair and what appeared to be only a handful of teeth. He vaguely resembled my former, glue-sniffing supervisor from my days working as a janitor. This memory predated that encounter, however—when I first laid eyes on this particular character, I was merely six years old. It was the inaugural day of kindergarten, and as fate would have it, by day’s end, my mother had arranged a playdate between me and this five-year-old redhead.
Despite our vastly different backgrounds – he was Catholic, and I am Jewish – we immediately connected. For the subsequent five years, it became a common refrain: “Robbie and David are inseparable.” And it was true. Even now, twenty-one years later, while Rob and I may not see each other daily, and sometimes months pass without communication, I can confidently say he remains my closest friend.
However, a complication exists. Some years ago, Rob and I were driving to lunch when a BMW abruptly cut us off. Rob, known for his road rage, exclaimed, “That damn Jew, driving his BMW like he owns the road!”
I was taken aback, replying, “Um… Rob, you do realize I’m Jewish.”
“Yeah, but you’re not like the rest of them.”
What exactly did that imply? Was my Jewish identity somehow deficient? I am, after all, a bearded, kippah-wearing, religious Jew with a fondness for bagels and latkes. Christmas is barely on my radar, except as a marker for Chinese food and movie outings. I gestured to my kippah, “Rob! I’m practically the most stereotypical Jewish person you’ve ever encountered.”
He knew he’d been caught out, “You know what I mean, you’re not spoiled like everyone else around here,” he retorted, his face flushing.
I was speechless. My immediate thought was, ‘My best friend is antisemitic.’ I began to dissect it: how could this have developed? Rob grew up in a working-class, non-Jewish family in the heart of what was predominantly an upper-middle-class, white-collar Jewish suburb. While his family was by no means impoverished, they lacked the financial advantages that surrounded them. As a non-Jew in a Jewish town, Rob was somewhat of an outsider, spending most of his time with the few other non-Jewish children. They were “the others,” in a sense, the underdogs, feeling overshadowed by the affluent, privileged Jewish community. Rob had always harbored resentment towards wealthy individuals, even prior to singling out Jews, and cautioned me against becoming one of those “rich snobs” when I moved to the Jewish area of town at age ten.
Therefore, I could grasp the origins of Rob’s negative perceptions of Jewish people. The crucial question became: should I end our friendship, discarding years of positive history due to his prejudiced mindset? And further, was he truly antisemitic?
It seems befriending individuals with similar viewpoints has been a recurring pattern in my life. During my time working at a Jewish summer camp, alongside the aforementioned toothless, spiky-haired boss, I found myself developing friendships with several people akin to Rob. They were non-Jewish, from less affluent backgrounds, and spent their summers employed by Jewish superiors who drove expensive cars. Predictably, they often echoed sentiments similar to Rob’s, dismissing me as “different from the rest of them.”
These were fundamentally decent people; they were diligent workers and loyal friends. Rob, too, is a good person. I’ve lost count of the times he has helped me out of difficult situations; he may even have saved my life on one occasion. Yet, they all carried these deeply ingrained, negative stereotypes about Jewish people.
In our current politically correct climate, the immediate reaction is often to label such individuals as “antisemites!” or “racists!” The reality is, these individuals are antisemitic, but not necessarily antisemites. None of these friends would participate in violent riots chanting “Kill the Jews.” In fact, I am confident that if someone were to utter such hateful words in their presence, they would defend us.
Perhaps controversially, I believe a distinction must be made between being antisemitic and being an antisemite. I define an antisemite as someone who actively harbors hatred towards Jewish people, views us solely in a negative light, and desires harm to come to us. This doesn’t necessarily equate to being a Nazi intent on extermination; they might simply be white supremacists who want us out of their country. They tend to blame Jewish people for societal problems and often believe in a Jewish conspiracy to control the world. Antisemitism is complex, and most of us have likely encountered an antisemite or two in our lives, but the majority of people who harbor negative views about Jews are not antisemites. They are antisemitic.
These are individuals who dislike certain perceived characteristics or stereotypes associated with Jewish people. Both types of prejudice stem from ignorance and are harmful, but being antisemitic is significantly less extreme than being an antisemite. An antisemitic person will make ignorant and offensive remarks about wealthy Jews, may believe some negative stereotypes, and might even suspect the existence of conspiracies. (Frankly, even I have fleeting moments of suspicion about certain things). The crucial difference is that antisemitic people do not fundamentally hate Jewish people. Like my friends, these same individuals who might believe all lawyers and bankers are Jewish would still defend our rights as human beings and as free citizens of our respective nations. In Rob’s case, some of my non-Jewish friends have even attended more Passover Seders and Bar Mitzvahs than some Jewish people I know.
My friends are wrong to hold these prejudices, undeniably. However, their views are not so deeply entrenched that I should sever ties with them. Someone who is antisemitic is on a path. With negative reinforcement, they could potentially evolve into true antisemites, joining hate groups or engaging in violence. Conversely, with positive influence, they can be guided to recognize what they likely already subconsciously understand: that it is wrong to harbor negative prejudices against an entire group of people.
This is why I choose not to simply discard my antisemitic friends. Instead of pushing them away, we should engage with them, fostering the positive aspects of their character and encouraging them to shed their misguided beliefs about Jewish people.
