As a child, I was trained to greet people. Wishing someone a good morning, good afternoon, good evening, and the like were part of social etiquette. Acknowledging one’s elders, family members, friends, and neighbors was both courteous and friendly. Wishing Good Shabbos was a natural greeting from one Jew to another, and thinking back on my youth, this is how we were all trained. This was a normal part of our upbringing. The Talmud also recounts anecdotes of great people who made sure to offer the first greeting when encountering a friend, or even a stranger. The Talmud lauds those who display such courteousness and respect.
Sadly, as I have observed over the years, this aspect of civility has largely fallen by the wayside. Several of my patients and talmidim have observed that while traveling, other Orthodox Jews in foreign cities or mountain trails tend to avert their eyes and avoid contact, perhaps to avoid identifying themselves as Jewish while out in public. This strikes me as odd since there tends to be safety in numbers, and knowing that there are fellow Jews nearby can engender some degree of safety. I remember hiking with my wife in the Alps some years ago and spotting an obviously Chassidic family along the trail. The husband, though clad in his black caftan, sported a baseball cap, which struck me as an odd combination. Later, when I saw him in the airport, I asked him about the baseball cap. He explained to me that while traveling in a foreign country, he prefers to hide his Jewish identity.
For many years, I always greeted people while out walking or while traveling or on vacation with a pleasant “Good Morning,” mindful of the Talmudic dictum that a Jewish person should always initiate the greeting among strangers as a form of Kiddush Hashem. Usually, I received a greeting in return or a smile by roughly two-thirds of the people I encountered. But since October 7, the situation has changed dramatically. I noticed that my greetings are met either with stony silence or are ignored completely by about three-quarters of the people I encounter whether out walking or in a store. There seems to be a strong undercurrent of hostility toward Jewish people among the general public. As the media reports, flight attendants, store clerks, bus drivers, and perhaps others, some average Americans harbor negative stereotypes regarding Israel and Jews, regardless of their relevance to the innocent Jew they might meet. A congregant of mine, who was traveling with his teenage son, told me about a troubling incident in which his 14-year-old son (who was wearing a green IDF t-shirt), was approached by one of the passengers, a middle-aged woman, and berated for being one of the “Israeli murderers of helpless children in Gaza.” No one came to the boy’s defense. No one tried to intervene. There is an element of prejudice that we cannot control that is now more overt and out in public.
As a professor in a university, I would often spend hours in the library researching. One of the librarians was overtly hostile to me, insinuating that I was stealing material from the library, refusing me a locker to secure my research data, and otherwise implying that I was a dishonest Jew. I said nothing about it, and greeted her each time I went into her academic lair. One morning as I arrived on campus during a storm, the gusts of wind were so strong that I was forced to make my way across the parking lot with an umbrella in one hand and a briefcase in the other. To my shock and surprise, the librarian greeted me by title and for the first time, actually smiled at me. I was puzzled and relieved, assuming that my courteous demeanor had slowly paid off. After finishing my work, I made it back to the parking lot and, as the wind blew, I reached up to ensure that my yarmulka was still there and to my shock and chagrin, realized it was gone. I realized it must have blown off earlier during the storm, and sure enough, I found it sitting in a puddle beside my car. I squeezed out the water and placed it back on my head, feeling uneasy that I had been walking on campus with no head covering for the first time in my career.
I was clearly a victim of stormy circumstances, yet I still felt bad. But I decided to test out a hunch. Clad in my black skullcap, I returned to the library and seeing the librarian, I greeted her. She looked up, scowled at me in her usual manner, and then ignored me. This confirmed to me that there is an inherent prejudice in society that we cannot control so long as our Jewish identity is visible. The librarian had earlier been thrilled that I had seemingly “discarded” my religious trappings. When she saw that it was not so, she went back to her hostile and brittle mode, which, sadly, she maintained throughout my long tenure as professor there.
Still, I continue to greet people and encourage others to do so. But with my fellow Jews, I believe we can do better at socializing our children to display greater courtesy and civility to each other. We Jews engage in impressive acts of charity and chessed, yet there is a kindness that is even greater when we can train ourselves to wish each other a good Shabbos, gut voch, good morning, or good day, acknowledging our fellow Jews with warmth and respect. Virtue is its own reward, plus it is a sanctification of Hashem’s Name when we practice this verbal v’ahavta lereiacha kamocha.
Rabbi Dr. Dovid Fox is a forensic and clinical psychologist, and director of Chai Lifeline Crisis Services. To contact Chai Lifeline’s 24-hour crisis helpline, call 855-3-CRISIS or email crisis@chailifeline.org. Learn more at www.chailifeline.org/crisis.
