The Wicked Son

by David Mamet

  So it is with anti-Semitism. Many who enjoy the benefits of hatred as a harmless entertainment would be shamed to have their hidden vice brought to public view. Unfortunately, they run little risk, as the vice is both communally shared (as at the car wash) and, were it brought to consciousness, deniable under various heads.

  These headings include (a) I am merely speaking against Israel, I have nothing against the Jews per se; (b) I am merely stating the obvious, I mean no harm to individual Jews or to the Jewish people, but it is a fact that Jews control ( fill in this space)—I do not say this is good or bad, only that it is so; and (c) the Jews killed Christ; I do not say this should influence our contemporary thinking, but there it is, in the Gospels.

  Now, this is all bad enough from a Gentile, but how much worse when found in the mouth of a Jew.

  A joke from a coreligionist:

  Q: Why are Jews like manure?

  A: A few make things green; too many make everything stink.

  I found this joke significant in that the prospective turncoat was trolling for endorsement using very old bait indeed. This joke could have been told at the country club in the 1950s (and probably was).

  His attempt was pathetic in that he had a tin ear—contemporary anti-Semitism has largely freed itself of the possibility of riposte; it has morphed, as has the pedophilic wet T-shirt contest, into the rhetoric of reason.

  Rather than attempting to receive chuckles from the imbiber of the Rob Roy, the Jew-hater of today may gear his presentation toward sad nods of the head. Human society, ever adaptable, has found a way, as usual, around the proscription.

  The quiddity of the self-loathing Jew, the opted-out Jew, is his grotesquerie. Both to his people and to the enemies of his people, he is out of step, out of tune, and pathetic—his efforts at assimilation foiling the possibility of contentment with a group to which he actually belongs.

  Who is this Vedantist, freethinker, newly convinced Episcopalian, detractor of Israel, and whose approval is he courting? Does he think that his brave assertion of his racial taint, coupled with a repudiation of his people’s history, traditions, and religion, is going to win him friends anywhere?

  It is axiomatic that all military loathe spies and turncoats; is a disaffection fostered by fear of death less worthy of scorn than one fostered by fear of censure?

  Who are these poor Jews who think their people stink? And is not the first part of the formulation equally telling, that a few Jews make things grow?

  Who as per the humorist, are these few? The Jude Suss, the Capo, the House Jew, the Clown, the Danny Kaye “citizen of the world,” perhaps the humorist himself, willing to sell out his people to be among the permitted few. Disgraceful.

  Philip Roth explored the subject magnificently in The Human Stain. Here we see a Jewish professor, hounded from his position for an innocuous offhand comment misunderstood as a racial slur.

  We discover, through the book, that the professor is, though, not Jewish at all but an African-American who has spent his whole life passing for white. The misunderstood slur was reported by two African-American students who felt slighted. Thus, as the book ascends from drama to tragedy, we see that the hero’s own fault has sought him out, he has run to his appointment in Samarra, the world has set upon him, and he cannot turn for solace to the group that he has, ironically, in fact harmed by his abandonment.

  This unconvinced Jew is like the lecher at the high school car wash—consciousness of his guilt evident in his wonderful effusive bonhomie.

  * * *

  Judaism: The House That Ruth Built

  I’ve often heard this story from the fallen-away Jew:

  Q: Why did you give it up?

  A: I had a bad experience with a rabbi.

  The tone with which the explanation is regularly uttered indicates its historic reception with coos and exclamations of sympathy.

  But if we remove “rabbi” and substitute “doctor,” “dentist,” “teacher,” or “accountant,” the folly of the statement is plain, and it may be understood to mean “I realized that it was optional.”

  Further, the explanation has something of an indictment about it—i.e., “I also realized that it was wrong—the ‘bad rabbi’ revealed to me the error of my ways. My late and sad wisdom consisted in recognizing that, of course, the entire organization [Judaism] is, and must be, corrupt.”

  Q: Why did you never marry?

  A: I once met an unpleasant woman.

  Oh, really?

  Here is a congruent statement, from The Economist,

  21 August 2005, on Ariel Sharon: “He bears some of the blame for triggering the present violence by his provocative eve-of-intifada walk on Jerusalem’s Temple Mount.”

  See the disparity between cause and effect: Sharon-took-a-walk-and-so-thousands-must-die. This must reveal the operation of a hidden mechanism—for the disparity between cause and effect is just too great. A cursory dispassionate analysis shows the progression as absurd. As with the remark about the rabbi. The hidden mechanism in both is anti-Semitism: there is something so wrong about these Jews that, as all know, they are capable of anything. They exist to create strife. They are, in short, not human. Let us leave The Economist and other good-willed publications to the side, and address the apostate.

  He is ensnared in a delusion. His delusion is that he is thinking rationally.

  His defense is a tautology: I left because rabbis are bad, rabbis are bad because Judaism is bad, I know this because I met a bad rabbi; or an attack: You, my interlocutor, in your persistence are just like that bad rabbi (“you Jews are all like that”).

  That his lack of rationality indicts his position does not weaken, but strengthens, his resolved self-removal.

  For the unspoken, the resistance, is the neurosis, and the neurosis is: self-loathing. All the apostate’s information eventuates in self-loathing, which, because it is too painful to feel, is directed outward. “I dare not blame This World, I cannot blame myself—I will blame the Jews.”

  How might this disaffected and unhappy individual be won back? Only by rote. As they say in A.A.: There are two reasons to go to the meetings—because you want to, and because you don’t want to. And, further, “Keep coming back—it works.”

  The apostate will not be convinced by argument, for his reluctance does not rest on reason.

  Just as the writers of The Economist could not be swayed by fact: the PLO announced months before Sharon’s walk that they were stockpiling weapons for terror attacks; Sharon’s walk transgressed no holy Moslem sites, nor did it, in any way, offend Moslem law or custom; nor by logic: an examination of the phrase “his provocative eve-of-intifada walk” reveals a (rather egregious) post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy—The Economist states that the walk was provocative because it occurred on the eve of the intifada. But to refer to the time of his walk as the eve of the intifada, rather than to refer to the outbreak of violence as the result of the walk, reveals a (conscious or unconscious) understanding by the writer that the intifada was planned before the walk. If it were not, the intifada could not have an “eve.”

  Anti-Semitism is a vile sickness of the mind. It masquerades as reason, and, as any tyranny, it can never be seen to lose; for the slightest application of reason to it, as to Nazism, white supremacy, Communism, etc., reveals its total absurdity.

  The drink seems, to the alcoholic, the rational, indeed, essential, tool to aid his problematic struggles toward sobriety. And the apostate who once found the “bad rabbi” is similarly challenged not to run, cursing, from his occasional encounters with his religion.

  I’ve seen it, and, perhaps, you have too—the self-proclaimed ex-Jew, scoffing at the funeral, the wedding, the seder, and leaving in dudgeon when his behavior was not tolerated.

  What prompts this otherwise rational being to infantile rage? The impossibility of escape.

  If his corrupted reason is (by the necessity of basic good manners) silenced, if he is denied sophistry, and simply forced
to sit in the presence of Judaism, this otherwise civilized being may be driven mad. Many of you have seen it.

  Imagine this man at a Japanese tea ceremony, at a Zen Buddhist silent meditation, indeed, at a Catholic mass, a Hopi rain dance. At which would he not sit, if not interested, at the very least, polite? And would he not, if he became bored, turn his attention to whatever good or interest the ceremony might have to offer him?

  Would this individual huff and puff and offend those involved in their religious observance? He would rather die. And yet he is driven, driven, to decry, to disrupt, and to denigrate the observance of his own people—about which he is as ignorant as he is of the rain dance and to which he owes, as a civilized being, at least as much respect.

  What can be done for this person?

  Nothing outside of the synagogue.

  For, like the alcoholic, he has got to show up. The root of self-loathing is so deep, and the necessity for protection from self-knowledge so strong that only enforced participation can begin to overcome what is, finally, a revulsion.

  What can reason aid? This person, in ignorance, has chosen his own wisdom over that of millennia, has chosen to turn his back on the people who will, in times of trouble, accept and protect him, has renounced the beautiful observances of his ancestors. He is the gay Fundamentalist, an African-American secessionist—his delusion freezes his development, which now must coalesce around apology and denial.

  Simple submission would bring him self-knowledge and belonging.

  But he must show up.

  Here exogamy may come to his aid. The non-Jewish spouse may, in her love, correct his error. Untainted by the folly of self-loathing, never having met the bad rabbi, the non-Jew may bring reason to the equation, investigate the spouse’s religion and heritage, and bring him or her and the children, little by little, back into the fold.

  This is a beautiful and common story—love overcoming hate. It is the love of Ruth: “Wither thou goest, I will go, and your people shall be my people and your God shall be my God.” It can move mountains. And it can lead the apikoros back to shul.

  Now what happens in shul?

  It depends, of course, to a large extent, upon the shul.

  The ancient joke has the Jewish castaway found, on the desert island he’s inhabited for thirty years. “What are those three bamboo structures?” asks the sea captain. “That over there is my house,” says the castaway, “and that over there is my shul.” “And what’s the third one?” the captain asks. “That,” says the Jew, “is the shul I wouldn’t be caught dead in.”

  There is, of course, a real joy in having the shul in which one wouldn’t be caught dead. This is known as the joy of belonging, of finding one’s like and supporting them. This is a healthy aspect of Judaism—find the rabbi who speaks to you, and worship there.

  The newly minted ba’al teshuva, of course, may be skittish. Much of the beauty, let alone the good, of the service, and of religion in general, will be revealed only through time. He must make the investment, make a choice, and let reason keep him in his seat for those few hours a week.

  He will not see a white light and be convinced of the probity of his choice—this would be simply another manifestation of his self-worship, of his apartness—but he may, with safety, think “What would I be doing otherwise? I would be home napping or watching golf on television.

  “What can it hurt me to stay here? I am bored? So I am bored. I’ve been bored before. See how strong my will is.”

  And that simple pride in the will may be more than sufficient to fix his attention long enough to create a new habit.

  For his self-loathing can and will not be overcome by revelation, it is too ingrained. Only habit will suffice.

  The returnee must sit and watch and listen, and, should he do so, eventually he will receive this or that clue.

  One clue may be that the Torah contains some material relevant not only to life, and not only to his life, but to his very situation: the individual reluctant to acknowledge God, or the Mosaic Law.

  Further observation may teach him that, in fact, the entire Torah is a commentary on his situation. Having recognized that, he may desire to learn the actual language of the Torah, and, little by little, he will find that the habit of investigation, of study, of curiosity, has supplanted what he will now be able to recognize was the habit of apostasy.

  * * *

  Jewish, but Not Too Jewish

  How often have we heard or seen Jewish observance treated with scorn: “I’m Jewish, but I’m not observant” “You go to Shul?” “You support the State of Israel?”

  How often can one see ignorance of the nature and meaning of language, of symbols and observances, the mezuzah, Shabbos, the holidays, the tallis, payot, Yiddish or Hebrew words or tag lines, without suspecting the ignorant Jew of purposeful obtuseness?

  It would be difficult to imagine a Jew living in a Buddhist culture without at least exercising that minute level of curiosity sufficient to distinguish politeness from opprobrium. Jews, however, may live with or near the varying observances or survivals of a culture uniquely their own, and purposefully know and wish to know nothing of it.

  They may assign this intractability to a simple lack of interest, but such, coupled with a lack of courtesy, must suggest a deeper, less conscious motive. That motive is fear.

  Every potential increase in intimacy prompts a retreat from intimacy. The newly married couple fights viciously, and the young wife, proverbially, “runs home to mother.” The dating man or woman, dizzy in love, finds, magically, some previously unsuspected and heinous aspect of the beloved’s character; the novice is struck with doubts; the cleric undergoes a crisis of faith; all these retreats happen at predictable intervals. They are occasioned not by some new perception but by the prospect of increased intimacy. The Israelites at the foot of Mount Sinai turned their back on Moses not in spite of the imminence of God but because of it.

  And the apostate or assimilated Jew, who might express delight and wonder at the Japanese tea ceremony and retain these impressions throughout a lifetime, is hard pressed to remember if Rosh Hashanah precedes or follows Yom Kippur. This is not a “lack of interest.” It is panic.

  Many contemporary rabbis have written most positively about the benefits of Jewish intermarriage. It is not, they point out, non-Jews who dilute and threaten the community, but fallen-away Jews. We have seen frequent examples of the non-Jewish partner bringing his or her spouse back to Judaism.

  The primary, striking, and provocative aspect of the non-Jewish spouse’s curiosity is the absence of shame. Consider the apostate’s spoken or unspoken question “Why would you want to do/know that?” directed toward a loving spouse. Such a question is rightly understood as horrific, and revelatory of a deep disturbance.

  Bravo, then, to the non-Jewish partners, the Jews by choice, the proud Jew, and the otherwise free from apostasy. For they might offer to the rest of us, questioning, confused, ashamed, or remorseful, an answer to the question we have not asked: “Why do I hate my culture?”

  * * *

  Tribal Life

  We human beings are happiest in mutual devotion. Even in the shared understanding of the heavy drinker, or the cigarette smoker, there is a degree of love, of mutual service to something greater than oneself. Even in addiction. We see it in the military; we are told that the love of David and Jonathan surpassed even the love of women.

  We see this love in those who are blessed in having a life of service. I’ve spent my life in show business and, in moments of professional trauma, desperation, and temptation, have been chastened and comforted and directed by remembering that it is a calling and that dedication to the ideal is always the answer to the problem of the individual.

  In the theatre, in medicine, in law, in public service, we are offered filial piety, honor, tradition, language, a sense of responsibility to instruct, and, so, a sense of timelessness.

  Some of us understand that we, in professional lives, in
avocations, are shown a tribe and that it is our own tribe. When working with the tribe on the movie set, in the emergency room, indeed, at the sporting event, at the school event, at the amateur theatrical, the military reunion, the collectors’ convention, day-to-day considerations are put aside; in the bosom of the tribe, sleep, health, family, comfort can be taken away unnoticed in the joy of belonging.

  If questioned, we, meeting in the cold church basement, freezing, sleepless out on the set, drilling with the National Guard, mock the notion of discomfort, our very complaints part of the joy of belonging, and pity those not of the group.

  These groups, this tribal life, creates character organically. As we see and admire the individual we wish to please, and to earn his or her respect, through excellence at the group’s appointed task, through excellence at courtesy, in reliability, in knowledge. Turn to Sue, Sue will know the answer; Bobby will always be there with a joke when everything goes bust; trust Sam to reduce the complex problem through an anecdote. And we strive to be the equal of these admired individuals in what can only be described as good deeds.

  And everyday we learn something. Ah, we say, I now know how to better hold my tongue—I saw Rachel do it.

  And those of us in that tribe look out at those who will not join and see the beggars at the feast. It is the tribe of which we dream. You dream of it, too. How do I know?

  Virtually every television show is a fantasy of tribal life—the cops, the crooks, the doctors, lawyers, firemen, crime scene investigators; our longing is so strong that for the merest glimpse of its representation, we will sit through the commercials and consider every worthless product in the world. The opposite of life in this tribe is a life of anxiety, lovelessness, and loss.