June 13th: The Jewish Whiteness Question

I took a Southwest flight for the first time this past week. I experienced the fierce battle that is finding an aisle seat with a priority spot in the B section, and waited, while the rest of the plane filled up around me. Finally, a man and his 10-year-old daughter sat down in the two seats next to me with a smile and a head nod, and everything seemed to be going just fine.

As we began to taxi toward take-off, I took off my Cubs hat and put it on my knee. As I did, I noticed the man’s face next to me change as he discovered the kippah on my head. The man didn’t get upset, he didn’t get angry, he didn’t get aggressive. But he was most definitely uncomfortable. What he had thought was a perfectly normal traveling companion had turned out to be an “other,” someone different than what he expected. He remained quite polite, still treated me just fine, but the look on his face told me that my ability to pass as a white person had disappeared in the flash of a moment.

In recent weeks, there has been a resurgence into the evaluation of the whiteness of Jews, perhaps inspired by Wonder Woman (played by an Israeli woman), or perhaps simply because it’s about that time of year again.

It is impossible to ignore the fact that, unlike other minority groups, a large percentage of Jews are light-skinned. This allows many Jews to “pass” as white, fitting into the majority without any outward signs of their ‘otherness’. This means that, if they so choose, many Jews are able to pick and choose when they identify themselves as Jewish, and when they get to fit in with the rest of society.

Yet, at the same time, we are only 75 years removed from a time when it didn’t matter what color your skin was. Jews were murdered for their identity, regardless of their outward looks. Sure, a small percentage of Jews were able to hide their beliefs in favor of fitting in with the rest of the German people, but that didn’t stop the extermination of 6 million Jews, having nothing to do with the color of their skin. We can discuss and debate and argue all we want about our whiteness, and someone else can snatch it away in an instant.

The vital piece here is that it doesn’t matter what the outside expressions are: the moment one’s Judaism is exposed, their ability to pass disappears, just as mine did on the airplane last week. Sometimes that comes with questions, sometimes it comes with distrust or anti-semitism, and sometimes it is simply cataloged away as fact. Jews are only able to enjoy the privilege of whiteness so long as their “true identity” remains hidden, which, in turn, means that it isn’t true whiteness.

The truth, though, is that Jews shouldn’t be debating about their whiteness. Our ability to pass is seen by many as the opportunity to fade into the background, to be able to turn on and turn off our role in either community. I posit, rather, that we, as white Jews, have an obligation to maintain our membership status in both the “white” and “minority” communities, in order to create a better world for those around us who don’t have the same privilege. Our Jewish tradition teaches us that we are supposed to be lights unto the nations, that we are supposed to protect the stranger because we too have been strangers. We need to use our outward appearances to bring other white members of the majority into a willingness to listen, to understand, to embrace the diversity of other members of our communities. If I am using my whiteness to hide, I am fundamentally misunderstanding my privilege AND my faith. As a white Jew, my privilege is that I have the tools to force the door open and make the world a more inclusive place for others who don’t have the same foot in the door.

One of the greatest challenges of this conversation is that, by confronting the notion of whether or not Jews are white, it actually is forcing the issue of putting people into boxes. When we force a label on a group of people, we are asking them to bend their identities to match your understanding. Instead, we need to embrace the indeterminacy. We need to stop trying to identify whether or not someone IS a particular category and need to start embracing individuals. We need to stop treating all Jews as the same, all whites as the same, all blacks as the same, all of any group as experiencing the same issues. A Jew of color knows that their experience is very different from my own. When I meet a Jew of color, I don’t want to assume things about them, I want to learn about their experience and their identity. I hope that, even as a white Jew, I can be given the same opportunity.

It is always difficult to write something like this, knowing that I open myself up to the immediate disregard by someone saying “well, you have white privilege, you don’t get it.” I certainly don’t claim to know what it is like to be anyone else, or to have struggled like anyone else. All I am pursuing is a deeper understanding of identity than simply the demographic groups we fall into. If we really want to get to a point where we are creating spaces of inclusion and welcoming, we need to be doing so with the understanding that we human beings are complicated jumbles of identity, and that, in some cases, we need to be willing to understand that we are not always going to understand. When we don’t understand, we have the obligation to ask, and the opportunity to learn.


November 15th: No Time For Shame

**Disclaimer: I am identifying my place as a man of privilege, someone who is white (or Jewish, who passes as white). The following is my attempt to contribute to the public discourse, and offer thoughts as a part of the marketplace of ideas.**

“I’m ashamed to be a white man.” I’ve seen that posted on a number of occasions on social media, written by liberal-minded individuals who are struggling to come to terms with how our demographic voted during the election. An astonishing percentage of Trump’s support came from white males, and his presidency feels like a threat to anyone but men of privilege.

This shame is popular these days. White men are reminded often to check their privilege, to identify their opportunities that others don’t have. They are also cautioned against mansplaining, a loosely defined term for any time a man talks down to a woman. The long-time male dominance of public discourse is being tempered by others using their voices to put men in their place and create more space for others in a conversation.

That all being said, nothing is more worthless than being ashamed of one’s race and gender. Just as minorities and women can’t choose their race or sex, neither can a white male. To be ashamed of it is a waste of time. Instead, we need to take responsibility for our behavior and our actions and do more to advocate for the way others should act. We cannot choose our demographic identity, but we can control what we do with it.

The role of white men in constructing a more equal, caring society is not to simply be ashamed of ourselves, or even to be silent and let others figure it out. Advocacy is most effective when members of the comfortable majority are willing to break ranks and be helpful to lift up those fighting for power. Our job is to listen and to offer support. And it is also our role to call out injustice wherever it exists and demand better from the world.

This is not someone else’s problem, and shame is not a helpful solution. Instead, we need to figure out ways to be willing partners to racial minorities and other gender identities to ensure that the voices of all come together to create a path to justice and peace.

I am not ashamed of who or what I am. But my actions going forward are how I will be judged, and I need to ensure that I’m doing all that I can to ensure that the world is a better place BECAUSE of me, rather than DESPITE me.