This week, Jewish communities worldwide will read Parshat Yitro, which recounts one of the most defining moments in Jewish history — God’s giving of the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai. These directives weren’t just words; they were the first written texts of Jewish tradition, forming the foundation of the Five Books of Moses, known as the Torah — the cornerstone of the Jewish faith. It was this moment that earned the Jews the title “People of the Book.”

But what does being “the People of the Book” really mean? It’s a title we’ve embraced for centuries, and it carries more than one meaning. We’re the people who received the book — the Torah, a divine blueprint for life. We’re also the people whose story is told in the book — the Bible is our collective narrative.

And perhaps most importantly, we’re the ones who’ve placed books at the center of our culture and identity — studying them, teaching from them, and passing their wisdom down through generations. Books aren’t just tools for us — they’re at the heart of what it means to be Jewish.

Clearly, books have always been at the core of Jewish life, tools to uplift and guide. But this week, books hit the headlines for a very different reason. In East Jerusalem, two booksellers, Mahmoud Muna and Munir Muna, were arrested at their widely known bookselling establishment, Educational Bookshop.

Israeli police claim the shop was selling books containing incitement and support for terrorism, and the two owners are being held on charges of disrupting public order. Cue the predictable global outrage: protests, op-eds, and online campaigns demanding the release of these “innocent booksellers.” The shop, after all, is described by its supporters as a “place of coexistence” and “a cultural hub.” But, as it turns out, that is not quite the whole story.

A post by my friend Saul Sadka on X (formerly Twitter) really made me stop and think. Saul met Mahmoud Muna five years ago when he joined a delegation from a center-left American Jewish group visiting the bookstore. The goal of the visit was dialogue, to create an atmosphere of understanding by “hearing the other side.”

But what Saul experienced was something else entirely. Instead of a pleasant bridge-building conversation, he and the group got an hour-long lecture dripping with thinly veiled antisemitism. Mahmoud sneered at the group’s efforts at coexistence and peppered his talk with tropes about Jewish power and “oblique references to their lack of connection to the land.”

Most of the delegation nodded along, possibly because they didn’t detect the malice in the subtext. But Saul and a few others left feeling sick to their stomachs.

“It wasn’t just antisemitic,” Saul wrote. “It reeked of genuine animus. He really enjoyed watching the Jews nodding along, completely unaware they were being mocked.” What struck me most was not only that this wasn’t dialogue but that it was derision disguised as intellectualism — because it took place in a bookshop and was delivered by a supposedly well-educated bookshop proprietor.

And this brings us to the heart of the matter. For Jews, books are sacred not simply because they exist, but because of what they contain and how they’re used. From the moment we received the Torah at Mount Sinai, books have been tools to build a better world — guiding us to live with purpose and integrity.

Contrast that with people like the Munas, who use books to spread hate, justify violence, and incite division. In their hands, books become weapons. That’s what the police claim was happening at the Educational Bookshop, and Saul’s experience suggests those claims are far from baseless. It makes you wonder — not just about the books they were selling but also about the books they chose not to sell.

Of course, the world’s reaction has been as predictable as ever. Mahmoud and Munir Muna have been cast as martyrs of free speech, celebrated as cultural icons targeted by an oppressive regime. No one seems to care about the content of the books they’re accused of selling. No one considers the harm such incitement can cause. The narrative is already fixed: Israel is the villain, and the booksellers are the victims.

But here’s the thing: not all books are created equal. And not everyone who champions books is a true “person of the book.” Being “people of the book” isn’t about celebrating any book just because it has words on a page. Like anything good, books can also be misused for bad.

The Torah, given at Sinai, is the original good book. It’s not just a collection of opinions or ideas — it’s a guide for living, a set of timeless truths meant to ground us and elevate us. That’s why Jews have spent millennia studying it, debating it, and teaching it — not to tear others down, but to build ourselves and the world up.

But when books are turned into tools of destruction — when they’re filled with hate and used to justify violence — even the staunchest advocates of free speech have the right to stand up and say, “Not on our watch.” And that’s exactly what’s happening here.

The Educational Bookshop, far from being a “center of coexistence,” appears to have been a hub for something far more sinister. Mahmoud and Munir Muna are not champions of free speech; they seem to be peddlers of incitement, hiding in plain sight behind the veneer of intellectualism.

The story of receiving the Torah at Mount Sinai reminds us that being “people of the book” is a mission, not merely a title. It’s about holding the written word to the highest standard — using it to enlighten, not to inflame.

Each year, as we read the Ten Commandments in synagogues around the world, we are reminded of our sacred duty to recommit to that mission. We must stand against those who twist the power of books, making it clear that the book is not a prop for the basest human instincts. Books are tools — and how we choose to use them defines who we are.

Mahmoud and Munir Muna may run a bookstore, but that doesn’t make them “people of the book.” For them, books appear to have become weapons — tools to ensnare others in pseudo-intellectual justifications for hatred and violence.

We can never accept such a betrayal of the written word. For us Jews, books are sacred tools to enhance life, uplift society, and bring light to the world. And that’ s a difference worth standing up for — and fighting for.

The post What It Really Means to Be the ‘People of the Book’ first appeared on Algemeiner.com.