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Sarah Hurwitz wants Jews to stop apologizing and start learning
Sarah Hurwitz calls her first book, “Here All Along,” a “love letter” to Jewish tradition. Describing a journey begun when she worked as a speechwriter at the White House— first for President Barack Obama and later for First Lady Michele Obama — the book was a celebration of her rediscovering Judaism as a thirty-something who grew up with what she describes as a “thin” Jewish identity.
But if that book was sunny, her new book explores the shadows and storm clouds of Jewish belonging. “As a Jew: Reclaiming Our Story from Those Who Blame, Shame, and Try to Erase Us,” confronts the challenges of being Jewish at a time of rising antisemitism, a polarizing debate over Israel, and pressures and temptations that keep many Jews from appreciating a tradition that belongs to them.
Shifting the focus from personal discovery to a host of contemporary issues, “As a Jew” is both a primer and a polemic, explaining Jewish history, texts and practices in order to counter misinformation and inspire readers.
“We need to know our story. We need to know our history. We need to know our traditions,” she said in an interview on Thursday. “We need to know what we love about being Jews, so that when people come to us and they say, ‘Judaism is violent and vengeful and sexist and has a cruel God and is unspiritual,’ we can say that’s not true.”
The book also draws on her recent training and experience as a hospital chaplain, volunteering on the oncology floor of a hospital in the Washington, D.C. area, where she lives.
Hurwitz, 44, is a graduate of Harvard University and Harvard Law School. She also served as a speechwriter for Vice President Al Gore and in Hillary Clinton’s 2008 presidential campaign. In January, she plans to start training for the rabbinate at the Shalom Hartman Institute’s Beit Midrash for New North American Rabbis.
We spoke at a livestreamed “Folio” event presented by the New York Jewish Week and UJA-Federation of New York. Hurwitz discussed her time in the Obama White House, what she’s learned from meeting with college students struggling with antisemitism, and the challenges of writing a Jewish book in the post-Oct. 7 moment.
Our conversation was edited for length and clarity. To watch the full conversation, go here.
Your first book, “Here All Along,” was about your return to Jewish learning. What hadn’t you said in that first book that you felt compelled to say now? And how does “As a Jew” extend or challenge the earlier journey?
My first very much a love letter to Jewish tradition, and this book is much more of a polemic. That first book really reflected me at the age of 36 rediscovering Jewish tradition, having grown up with this very thin kind of Jewish identity.
In this new book, I began to really ask the question, why did I see so little of Jewish tradition growing up, why did I have to wait until age 36 to actually discover so much of our tradition? Why was my identity so apologetic, so kind of humiliating and, having grown up in a Christian country, how much of my approach to Judaism was really through a Christian lens? This book really dives into those questions at a time of rising antisemitism, where Jews need to start thinking about these things.
What does it mean to be apologetic? How did the Christian lens distort your understanding of Judaism?
I certainly believed that Christianity is a religion of love, but Judaism is really a religion of law. And I really did buy that, that ours is a kind of weedy, legalistic, nitpicky tradition with this angry, vengeful god. I mean, that is just classic Christian anti-Judaism. I also used to think this world is carnal, degraded, inferior, kind of gross, and the goal of spirituality was to transcend them. That is not a central Jewish idea at all. That is not what Jewish spirituality is. If you read the Torah, our core sacred text, you’re going to find a great deal about our bodies, but how we treat them, about really contemplating how they are quite sacred.
Sarah Hurwitz (left), a former speechwriter for First Lady Michelle Obama, does a “gazing exercise” with rabbinical student Lily Solochek at Romemu Yeshiva in New York, N.Y. on July 16, 2019. (Ben Sales)
You say more than once in your book that you want to “take back the Jewish story.” What does it mean to take back the Jewish story, and from whom or what?
Our story has often been told by others, and you actually see this in this very old story about Jewish power, depravity and conspiracy. You see it in the core story about a group of Jews conspiring to kill Jesus. And you see these themes winding their way through history. That story has been told about Jews for centuries. I want to replace it with our actual story, as told through Jewish texts and traditions.
The alternative you propose, in order for Jews to embrace their own story, is that they embrace the “textline,” which you call “the repository of our Jewish memory, the raw material for the story we tell about who we are.” I am not familiar with “textline” — how does it differ from “text”?
This is actually from [the late Israeli novelist] Amos Oz, and his daughter, historian Fania Oz-Salzberger. They say, “Ours is not a bloodline, it’s a textline.” Jews are racially and ethnically diverse, but our shared DNA, the thing that unites us, is our texts. Sadly, in the early 1800s, as Jews gained citizenship in Europe, there was a decision to assimilate and reshape Judaism to look more like Protestantism — a kind of “Jewish church.” In doing so, we de-emphasized 2,500 years of textual tradition beyond the Torah, which is where much of Jewish wisdom and ritual is found. Reclaiming that textual tradition is critical.
The idea and dilemmas of Jewish power is a theme in your book and incredibly timely, given the debate over Israel’s display of power in Gaza and several other fronts. How does your book approach the moral and spiritual tension of Jews moving from centuries of powerlessness to now having power and a state?
Many Jews today feel distress over the responsibility that comes with power. For 2,000 years, Jews were powerless, blameless victims. The problem with statelessness was that it led to slaughter on a massive scale. Some yearn for that innocence of powerless Jewish life, but I disagree that the cost of millions of deaths was worth it. With power comes moral responsibility. Israel, like all nations, is conceived and maintained in violence. I see the moral complexity, but I do not want to give up the power or the responsibility that comes with it.
After your first book came out, you became a prominent voice in Jewish life. Can you share encounters on the road that shaped your thinking for this book?
First, training as a volunteer hospital chaplain helped me realize the profound, Jewish-centered human experience of accompanying people in moments of illness, grief and death. Second, visiting universities before Oct. 7, 2023, I was stunned by Jewish students asking how I dealt with antisemitism in college. When I said I hadn’t experienced any, the students were shocked. Post-2023, the Gaza war accelerated ugly narratives on social media, which deeply worried me. I also reflected on my first book and realized that the Judaism I grew up with was oddly edited, shaped by our ancestors’ attempts to assimilate for safety — a choice I deeply respect but which left us somewhat “textless.”
How do your chaplaincy experiences relate text to real life?
I volunteer in D.C. hospitals. Being present with people in illness, grief and death is profoundly Jewish. Modern society finds these experiences uncomfortable, but Jewish tradition calls us to accompany mourners, prepare the dead lovingly, and inhabit the thin spaces where life and death blur. This presence, grounded in community, is essential. People often find relief simply in having someone acknowledge reality and speak openly about it.
You started writing this book before Oct. 7. How did the Hamas attacks and the Gaza war influence your writing about peoplehood, empathy and responsibility?
Oct. 7 didn’t change the arguments or themes of my book, but it gave more data points. For decades, Jews in America and Israel lived somewhat disconnected lives. Oct. 7 revealed underlying tensions and reminded us that Jewish identity has always carried conditionality. Some had illusions about a “golden age” of safety in the 1980s and 1990s, but many had faced real threats. The attacks shattered any illusions of security and exposed deeper societal challenges.
You talk about students on campuses being excluded from college clubs and causes because they are Zionist. I found your response intriguing — that Jews again create their own institutions the way they created Jewish hospitals and universities in the early part of the 20th century as a response to exclusion. Do you worry that you are overreacting?
Campuses vary widely. Some departments are excellent; some are hostile. In difficult environments, I advise Jewish students to try dialogue, but if excluded, to create their own spaces — clubs, organizations and initiatives, that are radically inclusive and excellent. Historically, Jews created hospitals, law firms and universities that welcomed anyone committed to excellence and tolerant of Jews. We can do that again. For example, Allison Tombros Korman founded the Red Tent after being ostracized [in the reproductive rights space] for her Zionist beliefs. It funds abortion services for anyone and is inclusive — an inspiring model.
Your book includes a chapter on Israel that aims to counter the accusations that Zionism is colonialist and racist. But you also include criticism of Israel, saying the country is not without its “serious flaws.” How do you navigate the lonely place of being a liberal Zionist today, which I often define as being too Zionist for the liberals and too liberal for many Zionists?
I navigate it like I navigate being an American: I can criticize, feel frustrated and yet remain committed. Israel is the home of 7 million Jewish siblings. Criticism does not mean abandonment. Many confuse ideology with family obligation, but Israel is our family, and we must stand with it while lovingly correcting its errors. This mirrors my commitment to America.
You were active in a Democratic administration and no doubt have seen the evidence of decreasing support for Israel among Democrats. Was that your experience when you worked in the Obama administration? Is that something you had to push back against?
I think people are a little bit confused about when the Obama administration ended, which was 2017. That was well before this 2023 dark turn, you know, it was a pretty normie administration. I don’t remember a single time in the Obama administration where anything negative was said about Israel. It was a great administration to be a Jew. I started first exploring Judaism when I was working in the White House, and my colleagues were so overwhelmingly proud of me, I could not just [believe] the encouragement they gave me. One time I actually ran into the White House chief of staff, a wonderful guy named Denis McDonough, and he asked me what I was doing for the December vacation, and the answer was, I was going to a weeklong silent Jewish meditation retreat. You don’t tell the chief of staff that you’re doing that, but I did, because I didn’t want to lie, and he just could not have been more proud.
Sarah Hurwitz interviewed by Norwegian actor Hans Olav Brenner in 2017, under a photo of her and President Barack Obama during her time as one of his speechwriters. (Thor Brødreskift/Nordiske Mediedager)
I now see, unfortunately, an ideology that’s been on the fringes of the left slowly making its way to the mainstream, and that worries me. I don’t think it is outrageous for Democrats to withhold an occasional shipment of weapons to express displeasure with Israel’s policy, but what worries me is that we are in a bigger environment of a real demonization and delegitimization of Israel.
I’m also really worried about the right. If you look at the data, especially among young men, they’re increasingly antisemitic, increasingly anti-Israel. And what I particularly worry about is that I see President Trump under the guise of fighting antisemitism on campus, engaging in really heavy-handed efforts to defund university campuses. And you can celebrate that. You can say it’s good for Jews, but I disagree, and I also worry about the precedent, that five or 10 years from now, when there is a president with a very different political ideology, who says that “Israel is a terrorist country, Zionism is a terrorist ideology, and I’m going to go and defund every campus that has an active Hillel, because Hillel is a Zionist entity.” We’ve paved that illiberal path, and it’s very easy for someone on the other side to walk down it.
I also really worry about, on the right, the MAGA ideology that says that a small group of powerful, depraved elites is conspiring to harm you and your family, to vaccinate you, to make your kids trans. It’s a very ugly ideology that is the very structure of antisemitism. The leap between elites and Jews is about a centimeter and Tucker Carlson’s made the leap. It’s got millions of followers. A lot of other people are making the leap.
Your books are, as you’ve said, love letters to Jewish tradition. But often observant Jews, here and in Israel, who are deeply steeped in Jewish text and practice, also embrace views that are illiberal and ultra-nationalist. How do you reconcile their embrace of the “textline,” and the illiberal positions they arrive at?
You are talking about the extremists, like [Bezalel Smotrich and Itamar Ben-Gvir, two far-right Israeli cabinet ministers]. I think they are being quite unfaithful to Jewish tradition. Judaism operates in polarities, holding opposing truths: love the stranger yet remember Amalek; humility and self-esteem; compassion with caution. Extremists claim only one pole, but both are essential. Jewish tradition demands wrestling with these tensions.
And yet those tensions are straining communal ties. How do Jews remain responsible for one another when there are such deep disagreements?
Judaism emphasizes the ethic of family. Even if family members espouse objectionable views, we engage them with tochecha — loving, private rebuke — to correct and guide them. Boundaries must exist for safety, but generally, we strive to keep people at the table, engage with them, and educate them.
A lot of Jewish authors are finding that it is difficult since Oct. 7 to promote their books, especially when they lean heavily into Jewish or Israeli content. How are you being received, having written a Jewish book in this time and place?
I only do events in Jewish institutions with a very small number of exceptions, so I haven’t been in any bookstores. I’m not really interested in going to bookstores. I want to go to places that have, frankly, good security and where it will be more than 20 people. I will say I’ve been surprised at how little pushback I’ve gotten to my book, because I thought this was a pretty edgy book. You know, I think my first book was pretty soft — like, “yay Judaism!” The second book is a polemic, and I was worried that I would get real pushback, real criticism, real anger. And yet, from the Jewish world, I’ve had Jewish leaders who are more on the right-wing side of the spectrum politically who like it, and leaders who are on the left-wing part of the spectrum who like it. They’ll tell me, “I see your compassion, and I see that you’re really wrestling with the other side, with those who disagree with you.”
Is there a Jewish text that you kind of live by, or that you really love, or just came across yesterday that really spoke to you this week or in this hour?
There’s so many, but I’ll take one. I’ll just simplify it. In [the Babylonian Talmud, Brachot 5b,] Rabbi A gets sick and then Rabbi B shows up and takes his hands and heals him. But then Rabbi B himself gets sick and Rabbi C shows up and takes Rabbi B’s hand and heals him. And the rabbis studying the story are very confused, because if Rabbi B, who was kind of known as a healer, could heal Rabbi A, then when he got sick himself, why didn’t he just cure himself? Why did he need Rabbi C to come and cure him?
And the answer that they offer is because “the prisoner cannot get himself out of prison.” I just think that’s a really beautiful story about the ways that we become trapped in our own anxiety, fear, anger, loneliness and really do need other people to come and take our hand and kind of pull us out. I thought about this a lot while writing my book. There’s about 80 people in my acknowledgements who read part or all of this book. And that was very important, because as a writer, I cannot get myself out of the prison of my own biases, my own ignorance, my own narrow views, and so many people reached out, took my hand and said, “What you’re writing is wrong,” or “that’s offensive,” or “you don’t know what you’re talking about.” And they said it very nicely. It was so important to me because I could actually step out and learn.
So I love that story. I think it illustrates something profound about what it means to be human.
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The post Sarah Hurwitz wants Jews to stop apologizing and start learning appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Germany takes a step back to its Nazi past — and Donald Trump is cheering them on
What a role reversal.
Since the start of his second term as president, Donald Trump has looked like he’s been following the playbook of Adolf Hitler and other despots. But now Germany is becoming like Trump’s America.
The Sunday election results in Saxony-Anhalt state were a victory not just for the Alternative for Germany, known as the AfD, but also for Trumpism. As Trump’s powers are cracking in the US because of high prices and the unpopular war against Iran, the American president’s brand has not only taken root in Germany’s former communist region, but is threatening to spread across the country.
“Wow! The Populist Party in Germany just had a really big night,” Trump wrote Tuesday on Truth Social. “They finally got tired of the absolutely horrible Immigration rules and regulations which have hurt Germany so badly.”
“MGGA!!!,” Trump wrote at the end of his post, apparently meaning “Make Germany Great Again.”
MAGA’s influence is plain to see on social media videos posted in the run-up to the Saxony-Anhalt election, in which the AfD came alarmingly close to winning enough votes to form a government on its own, which would have been the first time since the Nazi era that an extreme-right party has taken over the leadership of a German state. The videos show AfD followers saying racist things about immigrants and the superiority of white people, that there’s too much emphasis on the Nazi years and German history needs to be told more positively, and calling for an end to funding “anti-German art,” whatever that might mean, among a host of other stands that mirror those of MAGA.
Sally Lisa Starken, a freelance German journalist and bestselling author who has been chronicling the AfD, posted an Instagram video of an AfD “family festival” in Magdeburg, the capital of Saxony-Anhalt.
“The whole time I felt like I was at a Trump event. The AfD has quite consciously learned from the MAGA movement,” said Starken, who has also covered Trump rallies in the US.
AfD merchandise was everywhere, including t-shirts bearing the photo of Ulrich Siegmund, the AfD’s lead candidate in the Saxony-Anhalt election, and the man who would become leader of the state if the party is able to find a partner willing to join in a coalition government.
As is the case with Trump, there’s a cult of personality surrounding the 35-year-old Siegmund. People at the family festival stood in line for two hours to have their picture taken with him. Just before the Saxony-Anhalt election, the cover of the newsmagazine Der Spiegel called him “the most dangerous man in Germany.” Taking a page from Trump, Siegmund used the cover’s mug shot-style photo in his election campaign.
As with Trump, people of all shapes, sizes, ages and backgrounds attend these AfD gatherings, but they’re probably even whiter than at Trump’s rallies. And like Trump, Siegmund sounds like a huckster who knows how to grab the attention of people who feel like they’ve been left behind.
The AfD has become especially strong in former Communist East Germany at least partly due to German reunification, which occurred in 1990. The economy in the eastern region has never caught up with that of the wealthier west, unemployment is high, wages are comparatively low. There’s a feeling among many in eastern Germany that reunification hurt them, rather than helped them.
Reunification also triggered an explosion of neo-Nazi violence against foreigners, a scourge that continues to the present day. Resentment against foreigners soared in 2015, when then-Chancellor Angela Merkel opened Germany’s borders to waves of refugees fleeing war-torn Syria, a fateful decision that lifted the AfD from a fringe group of extremists to a party to be reckoned with — at first just in the eastern states like Saxony-Anhalt, but now across the country.
In last year’s federal elections, the AfD doubled its share of seats in the Bundestag, the German parliament. As a growing number of Germans have felt ignored by the mainstream parties — the Christian Democrats, the Social Democrats, the Greens and the Left — the AfD has surged ahead to become Germany’s largest opposition party.
Among those who attend AfD rallies are diehard neo-Nazis, many sporting tattoos with symbols and slogans banned by law because of their association with the Third Reich. Instagram videos from party gatherings show AfD followers saying that Hitler was a great man and Germany could use another leader like him, and only people with pure German blood deserve to be citizens.
Last year, Germany’s domestic intelligence agency, the Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution, classified the AfD as right-wing extremist.
“The ethnicity- and ancestry-based understanding of the people prevailing within the party is incompatible with the free democratic order,” the agency said in a statement at that time.
That judgment didn’t stop the AfD from seeking legitimacy abroad — or from finding it. Close links between the Trump administration and the AfD go back to the start of Trump’s second term.
It started with JD Vance’s address in February 2025 to the Munich Security Conference, an annual meeting of American government officials with our purported European allies. Vance shocked the conference by coming to the defense of extremist parties like the AfD. Since the defeat of the Nazis, Germany’s mainstream political parties have maintained a “firewall” that keeps them from cooperating with extremist parties. In his speech to the security conference, Vance essentially accused Germany’s mainstream parties of authoritarian behavior by shutting out the AfD.
“If you’re running in fear of your own voters, there is nothing America can do for you,” Vance told the European leaders.
On that same trip, Vance added insult to injury by meeting with the head of the AfD, Alice Weidel.
Olaf Scholz, who was chancellor at that time, defended the firewall against the AfD, saying the party trivializes Nazi atrocities. He basically told Vance to mind his own business.
“Where our democracy goes from here is for us to decide,” Scholz said.
At the center of the fraternal relationship between the AfD and MAGA is Elon Musk, the man who insists the stiff-arm gesture he gave at a rally celebrating Trump’s second inauguration was not the Hitler salute, although it sure looked like it. Just a few days later, Musk made a virtual appearance before a gathering of 4,000 at an AfD campaign rally in Halle.
“I think you really are the best hope for Germany,” Musk told the AfD followers. “It’s good to be proud of German culture and German values, and not to lose that in some sort of multiculturalism that dilutes everything.”
Musk added that there is “frankly too much of a focus on past guilt and we need to move beyond that.”
After the AfD’s success in the Saxony-Anhalt election, Musk wrote on X: “Well done!”
The AfD’s election shocker in Saxony-Anhalt has certainly caught the world’s attention — something that probably would not have happened were it not for Germany’s Nazi past.
Nonetheless, it feels like we have lost sight of a very important fact.
As we worry about the prospects of right-wing extremists increasing their power in Germany, politicians with virtually the same ideologies — xenophobes, white supremacists, racists and bigots — are already in the halls of power or positions of influence in Washington, D.C. and elsewhere in America.
And there’s something positive to be said about Germany.
Unlike the Trump administration, Germany investigates, prosecutes, and sends to prison far-right would-be insurrectionists, instead of freeing and rewarding them.
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For Orthodox women, or those who find men in yoga studios ‘gross,’ a refuge in Brooklyn
It’s Friday morning in Hasidic Crown Heights, just two blocks away from the Chabad-Lubavitch World Headquarters, and we are doing cat-cows. In cat pose, I hunch my back and pull my chin to my chest, letting gravity pull my ponytail to the ground. In cow, I pull my shoulders back, look up, and scan the room. For some, this class at Vessel Studios is a final meditative moment before a hectic day of shopping, cooking, and otherwise preparing for Shabbat. But as I look around, it’s impossible to tell which of my fellow cows is Orthodox and which is not. Save for the headscarves that some of the Hasidic women are wearing, heathens and believers alike are dressed in more or less matching uniforms of leggings and sports bras.
Ordinarily, this class would be taught by the owner of the studio, Riki Rosenthal, but she is extremely pregnant and has thus joined as a participant rather than a teacher. A Crown Heights native, Rosenthal grew up Hasidic and took her first yoga class when she was 19, an age where wearing leggings at the Crunch Gym in Prospect Heights without a skirt on top still felt like a rebellious act. Now, she identifies as a “non-frum Lubavitcher” — a phrase that captures the dual reality that she no longer conforms to an Orthodox lifestyle, but still identifies strongly with the culture in which she grew up.
“Chabad supersedes being religious in a way; it’s a culture that I will always connect to,” she said. Aside from a stint in Manhattan in her 20s, she has never lived anywhere other than Crown Heights. By founding a yoga studio that caters to women only, she has created a space where students, regardless of their religious beliefs or lack thereof, can exercise without the influence of men, whether for tznius, for the sisterly environment, or simply because, like Rosenthal, they believe “yoga studios with men are gross.”
In September 2020, 12 years after she took off her skirt to work out at Crunch, at a time when many studios were still closed because of COVID, Rosenthal started teaching yoga in her apartment. Two years later, she opened Vessel in the basement of a townhouse on Eastern Parkway. Signing a lease for her own studio was a big move, she said, but “there’s this part of being Chabad that makes you feel invincible.”
The studio has a soothing, sage green aesthetic, small lamps placed around the room provide soft lighting, and instructors often burn incense. There’s even a drawer with extra tichels — headscarves — in case anyone forgot theirs (though recently it had been emptied in anticipation of heavy rain and possible flooding, and hadn’t been restocked when I visited).
Rosenthal sometimes hears from would-be yoginis wanting to know if yoga is “kosher.” She feels unqualified to answer that question, especially since she “doesn’t totally subscribe to kosher.” Still, what she teaches is an Americanized brand of yoga that goes light on the Sanskrit, so that students don’t feel like they’re committing the sin of worshipping a false idol. “None of my teachers really talk about any of the yogic deities,” she said. “I try to keep it very neutral because I don’t really want to piss anyone off.”
Still, here on Eastern Parkway, as our Friday morning class comes to a gentle close, our instructor, Rachel Sherman, ends it with a “namaste” along with a “Shabbat shalom.”
For Sherman, who grew up Reform in Dallas, teaching yoga at Vessel has challenged the stereotype of Hasidic women — at least, Lubavitcher women — as quiet and demure. “A lot of my students speak, like, five languages. Most of them have careers,” she said. She admires what she views as their extreme confidence: “Total beginners will come to yoga and go straight to the front row,” she said. “No one’s afraid to tell me if they hate the incense, or if they need the temperature of the room different, and as someone who leans a little more people-pleasy, I appreciate a straight shooter.” She said she’s also impressed by how quickly women start doing yoga again after giving birth.
Maia Levy, a member of the Crown Heights Lubavitch community, was a near-total beginner when she started coming to Vessel. She said she wasn’t intimidated, though; she understood quickly that Vessel was the kind of place where “everyone is at their own pace” and “if you need to be in child’s pose for, like, 20 minutes, that’s fine.”
Earlier this year, Levy gave birth to her first child. She attended prenatal yoga at Vessel while pregnant, and returned to class a mere six weeks after giving birth. Sure, she might spend a little more time in child’s pose than before, but in a women’s-only yoga studio in a community that puts a heavy emphasis on motherhood, no one bats an eye. “I was, like, itching to get back,” she said.
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The measles outbreak and the skepticism about vaccines
אַ פּאַציִענט מײַנער אין מײַן קליניק האָט מיר געװיזן אַ בילד פֿון אַ פּלימעניק מיט אַ מאָדנעם אױסשיט. „קען דאָס זײַן מאָזלען?“ האָט ער געפֿרעגט, אומבאַרויִקט. מיט פֿינף יאָר צוריק, מיט צװײ יאָר צוריק, װאָלט איך אים געזאָגט אַז דאָס איז שיִער נישט אוממעגלעך. הײַנט אָבער לײענט מען קאָשמאַרן װעגן קינדער װאָס שטאַרבן אַװעק פֿון אַ קראַנקײט װאָס האָט פֿריִער געהאַלטן בײַם עלימינירט װערן. װאָס איז געשען?
אין די שפּעטע 1950ער און פֿריִע 1960ער יאָרן, זײַנען צװײ מאָל אַזױ פֿיל קינדער געשטאָרבן פֿון מאָזלען װי פֿון פּאָליאָ. די ערשטע פּראָבע פֿון אַ מאָזלען־װאַקצין האָט מען אַדורכגעפֿירט אין 1960. אַז מע קוקט אױף דער דאָזיקער טאַבעלע, אונטן, זעט מען אַז די צאָל פֿאַלן זײַנען היפּש אַראָפּגעפֿאַלן בײַם אַדאָפּטירן דעם װאַקצין. (מע קען אױך פֿאַרגלײַכן מיט בריטאַניע, װוּ דעם װאַקצין האָט מען אײַנגעפֿירט מיט אַ 20 יאָר שפּעטער, און די צאָל פֿאַלן איז געבליבן מער װײניקער אַ הױכע ביז דעמאָלט, אין פֿאַרגלײַך מיט די פֿש״אַ.)
הײַנט זעט מען װידער מאָזלען: נישט נאָר די בולטסטע סימנים דערפֿון — דעם אױסשיט װאָס הײבט זיך אָן אױפֿן קאָפּ און גײט װײַטער אַראָפּ, ביז די פֿיס, אָדער די בלױלעכע פּינטעלעך אױף דער אינעװײניקסטער הױט פֿון מױל — נאָר אױך די סכּנות װאָס זײַנען גאַנץ רעאַל כאָטש קומען פֿאָר װײניקער, מוח־אינפֿעקציעס און טױט. אין 2023 זײַנען געװען 58 פֿאַלן מאָזלען אין די פֿאַראײניקטע שטאַטן; אין 2024 — 285; אין 2025 — 2,289, און אין 2026, ביזן 27סטן אױגוסט — 2,903 פֿאַלן.
אין 2025 זײַנען דרײַ קינדער אין אַמעריקע געשטאָרבן פֿון מאָזלען, און ביז איצט אין 2026 זײַנען צוויי קינדער געשטאָרבן, כאָטש די טראָמפּ־אַדמיניסטראַציע, בײַנאַנד מיט דער דירעקטאָרין פֿון פֿעדעראַלן סי־די־סי, עריקאַ שוואַרץ, האָבן אָפּגעמעקט יענעם ציפֿער פֿון פֿעדעראַלן װעבזײַטל.
די סיבות פֿאַר װאָס מע װאָלט געװאָלט באַהאַלטן יענעם ציפֿער דעקן זיך מיט די סיבות פֿאַרן נעגאַטיװן צוגאַנג צו װאַקצינען װאָס הערשט אין דער איצטיקער רעגירונג. װאָס אַן אמת, כאָטש מע האָט ליב צו באַשולדיקן דעם פּרעזידענט אין אַנטי־װאַקציניזם, איז אַזאַ צוגאַנג אױך אַ סך מער פֿאַרשפּרײט אין אַנדערע לענדער. אױך אין קאַנאַדע שטײַגט די צאָל פֿאַלן מאָזלען און דעם אַנטי־װאַקציניזם שטיצט מען מער אין דער עפֿנטלעכקײט. הײסט עס אַז טראָמפּ, און דער נעגאַטיװער צוגאַנג פֿונעם געזונט־סעקרעטאַר ראָבערט קענעדי לגבי װאַקצינען, זײַנען נאָר סימפּטאָמען פֿון אַ ברײטערער גלאָבאַלער טענדענץ.
בכלל װילן אַ סך הײַנטיקע רעגירונג־פֿירער איבער דער װעלט אײַנצױמען די מאַכט און דעם גרײך פֿון דער מלוכה. זײער טענה גײט אין דעם, אַז די מלוכה מישט זיך כּלומרשט צו פֿיל אַרײַן אינעם לעבן פֿון מענטשן. דאָס איז געקניפּט און געבונדן מיט אַן אַזוי־גערופֿענעם פּאָפּוליזם. אַזעלכע אָנפֿירערס װילן שטיצן „דאָס פֿאָלק“ קעגן „דער עליטע.“
צום באַדױערן רעכנט „די עליטע“ אַרײַן מענטשן װאָס זײַנען יאָ מומחים אין געװיסע געביטן װאָס דאַרפֿן יאָ אַ ספּעציאַליזירטן צוגאַנג. און „דאָס פֿאָלק“ װאָס די דאָזיקע אָנפֿירערס שטיצן איז אָפֿט מאָל נאָר דער טײל פֿאָלק װאָס שטיצט יענע פֿירערס. (מע זעט נישט קײן איניציאַטיװן פֿון די דאָזיקע אַנטי־װאַקצין־רעגירונגען צו שטיצן אַנדערע אַספּעקטן פֿון עפֿנטלעכן געזונט. פֿאַרקערט, די קאַמפּאַניע לטובֿת געזינטערע שפּײַזן פֿון קענעדי איז מערסטנס אַן אופֿן צו באַשלדיקן יחידים אין זײערע דיִעטעטישע טעותן.)
די דאָזיקע אידעאָלאָגיִעס העלפֿן דערקלערן פֿאַר װאָס „פּאָפּוליסטישע“ אָנפֿירערס אין אַ צאָל לענדער טרעטן אַרױס קעגן דאָקטױרים, קעגן פֿאָלקסגעזונט, קעגן װאַקצינען, נאָר פֿון דער אַנדערער זײַט, ניצן זיי יאָ די מאַכט פֿון דער מלוכה זיך אַלײן צו באַרײַכערן און באַשיצן.
די דאָזיקע טענדענצן שפּיגלען זיך אױך אָפּ אין די מײנונגען נישט בלויז פֿון די פֿירערס, נאָר אױך פֿון סתּם מענטשן פֿון אַ גאַנץ יאָר. יעדע װאָך זע איך אַ סך פּאַציענטן אין מײַנע קליניקן אין באַלטימאָר װאָס זײַנען סקעפּטיש לגבי װאַקצינען אָדער זײַנען אַקטיװ דערקעגן.
פֿאַר װאָס װיל מען זיך נישט װאַקצינירן? װעגן דעם האָט מען אַדורכגעפֿירט אַ צאָל שטודיעס, נאָר אױף אײן פֿוס איז װיכטיק צו דערקענען אַז דאָס נישט װאַקצינירן זיך מײנט נישט אַז מע װיל נישט. דאָס לעבן איז קאָמפּליצירט, אַ סך פֿאָדערונגען קאָנקורירן איינע מיט דער צווייטער, און אױב מע דאַרף פֿאָרן צום דאָקטער, אין אַ געװיסער שעה, און צאָלן אַפֿילו בלױז אַ פּאָר דאָלער, קען דאָס אױך זײַן אַ מניעה. (שטעל זיך פֿאָר אױב מע האָט קלײנע קינדער אױך, אָדער עס פֿעלט אַ טראַנספּאָרט־מיטל, אָדער די ריכטיקע שפּראַך.) מיט אײן װאָרט, מענטשן טוען וואָס ס׳איז זיי גרינגער.
אָבער עס זײַנען אױך דאָ מענטשן װאָס זײַנען נישט זיכער אַזױ צי אַזױ װעגן װאַקצינען, זײ פֿילן זיך אין אַ קאָנפֿליקט. מע האָט נישט קײן צוטרױ צו דער רעגירונג, מע האָט מורא פֿאַר די בײַ־עפֿעקטן (װאָס עקזיסטירן יאָ), מע האָט זיך אינאָפֿרמירט מיט פֿאַלשע ידיעות.
אַ בײַשפּיל װאָס קער אינטערעסירן די פֿאָרווערטס־לײענערס איז אַנשי שלומנו, די חסידישע קהילות אַרום דער װעלט, װוּ װאַקצין־סקעפּטיציזם איז אױך אַן ענין. כאָטש מע זאַמלט נישט קײן דאַטן אין די אַמעריקאַנער צענזוסן באַזירט אױף רעליגיע, קען מען זען, למשל, פֿון די מאַפּעס בײַם ניו־יאָרקער געזונט־דעפּאַרטמענט, אַז אין די געגנטן װיליאַמסבורג און באָראָ־פּאַרק, למשל, איז דער פּראָצענט װאַקצינירטקײט װײניקער.
די סיבות פֿאַר װאָס טײל חסידים זײַנען נישט איבערצײַגט צו װאַקצינען זײערע קינדער זײַנען ענלעך אױף סיבות פֿון אַנדערע אַזעלכע איבער דער װעלט: אַ שטײַגנדיקן אומצוטרױ צו דער רעגירונג אין אַ תּקופֿה פֿון עקאָנאָמישער און געזעלשאַפֿטלעכער אומזיכערקײט.
װען עס רעדט זיך וועגן געזונט־באַשלוסן, פֿאָלגט מען אָפֿט מאָל נישט די עצה פֿונעם דאָקטער, נאָר גיכער וואָס עס זאָגט אַ קרובֿ אָדער אַ גוטער־פֿרײַנד. אױב עס מאַכט זיך אַ שװעריקײט אָדער אַן אומבאַקװעמלעכקײט אַרום װאַקצינען, קען געמאָלט זײַן, אַז מע װעט נאָכמאַכן די מענטשן װאָס מע קען פּערזענלעך און מיט װעלכע מע פֿאַרברענגט אַ סך צײַט.
מעדיצינישער עטיקערס הײבן אַרױס די װיכטיקײט פֿון „פֿרײַען אױסקלײַב“ װעגן געזונט־באַשלוסן, נאָר אַ סך פֿירעכצן װאָס זײַנען אָנגענומען אין אונדזערע געזעלשאַפֿטן און קהילות זײַנען נישט גוט דורכגעטראַכט — אַרײַנגערעכנט פֿירעכצן װאָס שטיצן דעם עפֿנטלעכן געזונט. דאָס טראָגן שיץ־פּאַסן, למשל, אָדער דאָס פֿאָרן פּאַמעלעכער ווי די מאַקסימאַלע גיכקײט, אָדער דאָס נישט רײכערן אין עפֿנטלעכע ערטער, דאָס פֿאַרזיכערן געזונטע שפּײַזן און װאַסער־קאַנאַליזאַציע — דאָס אַלץ זײַנען דערגרײכונגען פֿון פֿאָלקס־געזונט װאָס זײַנען באַזירט אױפֿן מבֿינות פֿון רעגירונג־עקספּערטן, נישט יחידישע באַשלוסן װאָס מע דאַרף װידער נעמען יעדן טאָג פֿון דאָס נײַ.
ווען מע לעבט אין אַ געזעלשאַפֿט דאַרף מען, פֿאַרשטייט זיך, אָננעמען געװיסע אַחריותן לטובֿת דעם כּלל. װען איך װאָלט געדאַרפֿט איבערצײַגן אַלע מײַנע פּאַציענטן אײנציקװײַז װעגן װאַקצינען װאָלט געװען אוממעגלעך צו דערגרײכן די באַשיצונג װאָס מע דאַרף פֿאַר דער גאַנצער באַפֿעלקערונג. לאָמיר האָפֿן אַז דעם עפֿנטלעכן געזונט, באַזירט אױף װיסנשאַפֿטלעכע פֿאַקטן, װעט אונדזער געזעלשאַפֿטלעך װײַטער שטיצן.
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