Purim: The Psychology of Anti-Semitism: A Purim Reflection

Liluei Nishmas Ita bas Chanoch Aharon Bistritzky

In the story of Purim, we encounter a terrible plot: the Jews were set for extinction. Haman wanted to kill the Jews. He spoke to King Achashverosh and said, "I'll give 10,000 silver coins to get rid of the Jews." The king replied, "Keep the money, I'm in. Let's get rid of them."

Yet through God's miracles and the coincidences of Purim—or as the saying goes, "Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous"—the Jews were saved.

The Parable of the Mound and the Ditch

Regarding the plan of extermination between Haman and the king, our sages bring an interesting parable to describe their thinking:

What can we compare this conversation to? Two people—one had a mound in his field and one had a ditch in his field. The one with the ditch thought, "If only the one with the mound would sell me his mound so I could fill my ditch." The one with the mound thought, "If only the one with the ditch would let me use the ditch so I could put my mound in there."

One day, they met. The one with the ditch told the one with the mound, "Please sell me your mound." The one with the mound replied, "Take it! You don't need to pay me anything, just get rid of it for me."

Why do we need this whole story? We understand that Haman hated the Jews, and Achashverosh also found them a nuisance. What exactly are we trying to gain by bringing this example of two people with fields—one with a mound and one with a ditch?

This parable reveals something fundamental about the psychology of anti-Semitism and why certain people dislike Jews. There are two layers:

Layer 1: The Mound

Some find the Jews' existence like a mound—it simply irks them. They think, "I just want to be me. The world is primarily not Jewish. Planet Earth is a place of humanity, not necessarily a godly spiritual place. It's a place where non-Jews are meant to feel at home." The mere existence of Jews makes certain people uncomfortable.

But why would such a small people—less than 1% of the world's population—make so many people uncomfortable?

Layer 2: The Ditch

This is where we find Haman's deeper psychology. Haman was more manipulative, thoughtful, and sensitive to spirituality than Achashverosh. Haman didn't see the Jews as just a mound but as a ditch—a hollow cavity, a hole in his field.

Why? Because a Jew represents God's consciousness. A Jewish soul, as the prophet says, exists to be "God's witnesses." We are meant to bring godly consciousness and moral conscience to this world.

When we received the Torah at Mount Sinai (which some say is called "Sinai" because it sounds like "sinah," meaning hatred), the nations started hating the Jews. This resembles a situation where someone isn't acting properly, and another person nearby acts at a very high moral level. Either you're inspired to live like them, or you're bothered by the fact that they represent a higher way of living.

The non-Jews were offered the Torah but didn't accept it. The Jews did, and this became the source of civilized moral living. As historians have noted, much of what we consider civil and moral stems from Abrahamic faith and the Torah.

So Jews became the conscience, the moral conscience of civilization. Some are inspired by that and want to be elevated. Others find that voice a nuisance: "I want to do whatever I want, but I have this conscience saying I'm not doing the right thing."

Either you start doing the right thing so you can sleep peacefully, or if you don't want to change, you try to silence that conscience. "You're making me feel empty. You're telling me I'm not doing the right thing, and I can't feel good about myself."

That's what the Jew represents—the conscience saying there's a better, more moral way of living, that there's a God who watches what we do and holds us accountable.

Therefore, for the simpler anti-Semite like Achashverosh, the Jew is a mound that irks him. But this irritation stems from the deeper reason represented by Haman's ditch—the emptiness felt when confronted with God's conscience in this world as embodied by the Jewish people.

How do we fight anti-Semitism? Not by trying to appease. The voice of conscience cannot become silent to please anti-Semites.

Consider a rebellious teenager doing dangerous things in front of their parents. The parents, not wanting conflict, might join in, saying, "You're right, this is great. We're not your parents; we're your friends." When parents try to become their children's friends, the children lose respect. "You're not my friend; you're my parent. You're meant to give me that conscience, but you're not fulfilling your role."

If Jews are the voice of conscience, then the best way to fight anti-Semitism is with "pro-Semitism"—by truly being ourselves and fulfilling our mission in this world. Parents can't join in toxic behavior; they need to be parents. Similarly, Jews need to do what Jews need to do.

Yes, there will be those who still don't like us. As the famous midrash states, the Jews are like a sheep surrounded by 70 wolves, and "great is the shepherd who protects us."

We don't fight anti-Semitism with diplomacy or by trying to be like everyone else. That's not our role, and such attempts fall flat—like parents trying to be cool with rebellious teenagers. Parents need to be parents, the voice of conscience, even if it's uncomfortable.

For us to properly fulfill our mission, we need to be proud Jews who learn Torah, spread Torah, do mitzvot, and represent God's consciousness to the world in a serious, strong, and proud way.

As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks famously said, "The world respects Jews who respect Judaism. The world is embarrassed by Jews who are embarrassed by Judaism." This holds true today more than ever, especially after the events of October 7th that uncovered so much anti-Semitism.

As much as we try to assimilate and be like everyone else, we're not. If we're here to bring God-consciousness to this world, let's do so—not by preaching, but by living as God wants us to live through learning Torah and doing mitzvot.

Yes, we can engage in diplomacy, but we shouldn't place our trust primarily in the people around us. We should trust in our God, in representing Him, and in doing what He wants us to do. That's when we're like the parents when we end up being respected and even loved by the nations around us—for fulfilling the holy mission we were sent here to do.

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Adapted from “Life Talks on the Parsha”