The hometown of my two grandsons was the site of a recent despicable act of anti-Semitism. This flagrant Jew-hatred was a new - and unwanted - experience for the boys and I felt it was important to explain why this hateful act found its way into their usually well-ordered lives.
Having decided this, I got angry. Why do I, an American Jewish grandfather living in 21st century America, have to explain the terror of anti-Semitism to my grandsons? This explanation may have been necessary for the last 1600 years as Jews suffered as a persecuted religious minority throughout Europe and the Middle East, but this is 21st century America with its Constitution, civil rights and equal justice for all. Anti-Semitism should be an evil that our ancestors left behind when they left Europe to come to America. Yet, here I am, like countless of my ancestors, required to talk to my grandsons about a virulent injustice that should have no place in their young lives.
How to talk to them? How to explain to the innocence of youth that some of their neighbors hate them because they are Jews? That question is beyond the scope of their experience and yet, somehow, I had to find the words between informing but not alarming the boys. The words and ensuing conversation were difficult. What they did not want to hear was a historical discourse on anti-Semitism through the ages. What I wanted to convey was that, tragically, as Jews, anti-Semitism was part of their inheritance even as I choked back my anger that such an inheritance should continue into 21st century America.
The conversation did not go well. My words were halting, hanging between saying too much and yet describing too little. As I talked, I could feel my grandsons trying to sort out why some people hate Jews. Their silent question was “why”? My answer to their unasked question was that some people throughout the ages had to find a scapegoat to cover their broken lives and the persecution of Jews was an excuse for their failings. My words missed their mark, but it did not matter. The love and care with which they were delivered was the message that came through. The overarching message was that their grandfather was there to protect them as best he could. The essential bond of intergenerational love between grandfather and grandsons was intact and that shield, that covenant between generations, was what really mattered.
My talk with my grandsons about anti-Semitism was an echo of the talk Jewish parents and grandparents had with their children for hundreds of years past. America, with its laws protecting civil rights, held the promise that talks about anti-Semitism would no longer be necessary. They still are. They should not be.