Cheering for Biden is followed by antisemitic slurs towards Jews – opinion

It was late Saturday morning, about 11:45 a.m. The group in the tiny shtiebel, the room in which I pray, had just finished Shabbat morning services. On a regular Shabbat, a normal Shabbat, a grand kiddush would follow. Wonderful appetizers would burst from the kitchen, along with at least five different styles of herring accompanied by crackers and kichel, the sweet egg cookies made specifically to cup the herring. Any number of single-malt scotches, a few blends and several top-shelf bourbon would be paraded out for us to recite kiddush and a blessing. That would be only the beginning. Some weeks there would be charcuterie with scrumptious mustards.

And there were always at least two kugels, more often four: an oily potato kugel for those who believe that a kugel must “cry”; a less oily potato kugel for the non-believers; a sweet noodle kugel; and my favorites, a salt and pepper kugel and a Yerushalmi kugel. The Yerushalmi, or Jerusalem kugel is not my favorite because of the taste – although I do enjoy a good piece of Yerushalmi – but for what it represents. The Yerushalmi kugel is a blend of cultures. It is East meets West, Sephardi meets Ashkenazi: sizzling and brown from burnt sugar and tea mixed with egg noodles to satisfy Ashkenazi tastes, spiced with black pepper to satisfy Sephardi tastes.

But there was nothing normal about this Shabbat. It was another in a long line of life-altered-by-COVID Shabbatot.

The shtiebel is located in a small brownstone. It’s smaller than most private swimming pools, smaller than the combined living room/dining room of most suburban homes. We were 28 people, all men, socially distanced and masked. As prayers ended, one of the men began handing out miniature, airline-style bottles of vodka and individually wrapped cinnamon danish. Then came single portions of cholent. Not quite grand, but still a kiddush, a kiddush COVID-style, a variation on a theme of a kiddush: kiddush, but not really.

No one wants to say this out loud, but people go to synagogue because of the kiddush. Believe me, they don’t come to hear the rabbi’s sermon. Think about it. More people are in synagogue for the conclusion of the service and the kiddush that follows than they are for the prayers that come before.

And there was nothing normal about this Shabbat because, as our prayers ended, as we were about to enjoy our COVID kiddush, the next president of the United States of America was named.

BECAUSE THE shtiebel is located on the ground floor of the brownstone, it comes with its own backyard – a luxurious rarity in Manhattan. Until the pandemic, that yard was used once a year, on Sukkot, when a sukkah that took up almost the entire area would go up. Now it’s used every Shabbat.

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There were eight of us sitting outside when our Shabbat reverie was shattered by the sounds of celebration: Drums and cheers and singing and happy sounds were coming from the apartment buildings that surround the shtiebel’s backyard.

Everyone looked at me, the resident news-bearer. I surmised that the news networks had concluded that Pennsylvania had flipped to Biden, securing the former vice president’s place as the 46th president of the United States.

This was an Orthodox shtiebel in New York. Almost every Orthodox Jew, certainly in New York, voted for Donald Trump. Although I didn’t ask – I would never ask – I am pretty sure that no one in that room was an exception to that rule. In fact, several of the worshipers are politically to the Right of Attila the Hun.

And then the cheering stopped. As if in concert, the shtiebel’s neighbors, those who could look down on the backyard, began opening their windows. And the shouting began.

Antisemitic slurs were hurled at us, one after the other after the other. Awful comments. Comments I will not repeat. Most of us remained silent. Two men who felt the need to respond shouted back, “Thanks for being so tolerant.” One of our verbal attackers, I guess he had run out of antisemitic slurs, shouted, “And you’re not even vegetarians.” True, but relevant?

On the Upper West Side of Manhattan, a bastion of liberalism, we were being peppered with antisemitic slurs. We could see their faces. We know who they are. We shop in the same supermarkets, go to the same drug stores and dry cleaners. They had no shame. All they had was vitriol and anger.

This was not an Antifa group in Portland. It was not a group of college kids or youngsters. These were serious adults shouting from the comfort of their homes. They were shouting at me, and by extension, at all Jews.

They were not just celebrating the Biden victory, they were celebrating that when it came to politics, we, kippah-wearing Jews were now on the wrong end of the spectrum.

COVID has changed our lives. So, too, have politics. COVID is not in our control. Politics are. At least, in a democratic society they should be.

The writer is a columnist and a social and political commentator