It is commonly said that during times of war, our divisive disagreements fade, hearts unite against a common enemy, and we remember that “we are all brothers.” To an extent this is true. But conflict has a flipside: It also exposes and emphasizes our differences. Sometimes, coming closer together only makes us more aware of how sharply our elbows jab at each other.
AN ANCIENT DIVIDE
The Jewish political left-right divide was not born yesterday. Its roots trace to the ancient Biblical split into the kingdoms of Judah and Israel. Of the two, Judah was more “traditional,” more faithful to Torah law, while Israel was more influenced by the surrounding nations and their idol worship. The kingdom of Judah can thus be seen as the archetypal forefather of today’s Jewish right wing, which is more religious and nationalistic, while Israel can be seen as the archetypal forefather of today’s left wing, which is more secular and seeks to be “a people like all nations.”
The correspondence between current political divides and the ancient kingdoms appears in both their names and locations. The modern right’s closeness to traditional Judaism echoes the name “Judah,” while the modern left’s self-identification as primarily “Israeli” echoes the name “Israel.” Additionally, since ancient maps were drawn with East at top (hence “orientation,” meaning East-based navigation), Judah, being the southern kingdom, was literally located on the right side of the map, while Israel, the northern kingdom, was literally on the left!
The left-right divide thus represents an eternal inner struggle within the Jewish people. Healing it will rectify a rift dating back to Biblical times.
MY THOU IS YOUR OTHER
Can this rift ever be healed? Let us suggest one way in which this Messianic goal can be attained.
We’ll begin with a simple yet profound insight. Everywhere in the world, both the right wing and the left wing can be said to have two types of people which exist outside of their immediate circle: the Other—a group from whom they feel estranged, view from afar, and tend to turn into a “straw man” (i.e. see in simplistic, easily countered terms); and the Thou—a group they see as potential allies, eagerly engage with, and judge favorably. Each group sees its Other as a faceless “object” and turn away from it, and its Thou as a well-meaning “subject” whose face they seek.
Broadly speaking, for the right wing, the Other is the foreigner—people belonging to other nations or countries. The right tends toward patriotism and nationalism, and views people from other nations as lying outside their sphere of camaraderie and responsibility. For the Jewish right, especially its more religious subset, the Other is the goy, the non-Jew and, but more specifically, the Muslim, Arab, or so-called “Palestinian.” These are seen as actual or potential threats who at the very least should be treated with suspicion.
What about the right wing’s Thou? These are their fellow compatriots who sit at the other side of the aisle—the leftists. The leftists don’t share any of the rightists’ values, but because they both belong to the same people, the rightists wish to win their hearts, to get them to see they’re on one side. For the religious right especially, left wing Jews may have distanced themselves from traditional Judaism, but they remain something like family with whom one should have shlom bayit, domestic peace. This explains the various national “bridging,” “dialogue,” and “reconciliation” initiatives prevalent in the religious right.
So much for the Other and Thou of the right. What about those of the left? This is where it gets fascinating. It turns out that when we cross the political aisle the situation completely reverses: The right’s Other becomes the left’s Thou, and vice versa.
To elaborate, the left’s Thou are the foreigners—the gentile in general and the Arab in particular. In other words, the exact ones who serve as the right’s Other. For the Jewish Left, the Arabs who call themselves Palestinian aren’t just regional neighbors with whom we must live in peace, but an indigenous nation we’ve wronged and owe a moral debt to. Hence the Left’s eagerness for Arab-Jewish encounters and other endeavors aimed at overcoming national borders and racial prejudices.
The left’s Other is likewise an iteration of the right’s Thou: It is the Jews sitting across the aisle, which in this case are the rightists themselves, especially the religious ones. Whether it’s the national religious community harboring “lunatic” Messianic aspirations, the “parasitic” non-military-serving Haredis, or any of their political enablers, from the left’s perspective they are the main rivals. The left isn’t just appalled by the rightists’ views (that goes in the other direction too), but it’s ashamed of it. It feels that it if it weren’t for the right wing, all of Israel’s problems would have been solved.
One telling way in which the Other/Thou dynamic manifests is in how each side reacts to harsh statements about their respective groups. Each finds it relatively easy to hear and even utter harsh words about their Other but is distraught at hearing their Thou denigrated. For example, a Jewish religious rightist might not take much offense at hateful statements made about Arabs, but would object to denigrating fellow Jews. Conversely, many leftists have little issue with harsh statements made about, say, religious settlers, but are horrified by even hints of racist speech about Arabs.
Such generalizations tend toward oversimplification and miss many exceptions or nuances. But as generalizations go, we believe this one identifies an important pattern.
ALL ARE THOU, NONE ARE OTHER
How can we reconcile such mutually opposed worldviews? How can two systems that divide the world so differently find common ground?
The key lies in aspiring to ultimately view everyone as a Thou. Every person, whether near or far, Jew or non-Jew, friend or even foe, should be seen as bearing the mark of having been created in God’s image, possessing a soul, and deserving dignity and respect.
In fact, the concept of the “Other,” in Hebrew acher, stems from the Kabbalistic concept of sitra achra, the “Other Side”—a term for the realm of evil. To see someone as an Other means casting them into the realm of absolute, faceless evil. The true servant of God would avoid doing this to any person. The Other is only the sitra achra itself, while people, even wicked ones, remain human beings who at most have fallen under evil influence. What about enemies we have to fight or even annihilate, like the ancient Amalekites? Even then we should believe they could have chosen good, and indeed may still do so.
Another Torah concept connected to seeing people as Others is elokim acherim—“other gods” or foreign idols. When we mark someone as an Other we turn them into a non-person, denying their Divine image. This suggests God didn’t create them, implying someone or something else did, this resembles worshipping a false idol.
THOUING THE OTHER, ONE CIRCLE AT A TIME
The idea that we can view all people as Thous suggests a third path between the polar worldviews of the left and the right, one that sees both different Jews and non-Jews, including enemies, as fully human subjects. But how?
The key lies in recognizing that as embodied beings existing in space and time, we cannot regard all people as Thous in one breath. We need gradation—stages of growth enabling expansion from one sphere of identification to another. In other words, it’s not enough to merely declare that both left and right possess elements of truth, or even to identify these elements; we must determine which worldview should precede the other.
The answer isn’t difficult to discern. We exist within concentric rings of identity radiating outward from our immediate family. When advancing from ourselves to wider groups, the sequence becomes obvious: Different members of our own nation should be regarded as a Thou before extending this view to other nations. In other words, we should first follow the route of the right wing, and only then expand it to include the left.
This understanding of identity as concentric circles reveals the strengths and weaknesses of both political outlooks. The right, it appears, better grasps the first circle of in-group loyalty, but tends to err in remaining there rather than advancing to the universal circle. The left is the opposite: It feels at home in the universal circle, but undervalues the closer, national circle of identity.
Judaism offers two terms which encapsulate these stages of expanding love. First comes ahavat Yisrael, the love of Israel—the ideal of loving every Jew indiscriminately, a special kind of love reserved only for fellow Jews. Then comes ahavat ha-beriyot—love of all human beings regardless of origin, a more basic love extending to all peoples.
THE ALL-ARE-OTHER TRAP
We mentioned above that aspiring to view every person as a Thou is the mark of the true Chasid. Ideally, the Jewish sector that would embody this approach would be the Haredis, the ultra-Orthodox, a great many of whom define themselves as Chasidim. Unfortunately, that is not quite the case.
While the true Chasid would indeed ultimately consider everyone as a Thou, there is also the type of the detached, insulated Haredi, who sadly tends to hold the opposite view—that everyone outside their circle is an Other. They may certainly treat fellow community members as Thous, even performing extraordinary charitable acts for them; but everyone on the outside, both non-Jews and different Jews, becomes an Other to avoid.
This approach has unfortunately permeated much of the Jewish world. Instead of carrying the torch of the All-Are-Thou revolution, the people touched by it paint themselves into an All-Are-Other corner. Here’s hoping this mentality will dissolve and evolve into the vision of seeing all human beings as reflecting the One Divine Thou who created us all.
