Recently, a British journalist asked me whether Israel’s growing isolation in the wake of October 7 was inherently “Jewish.” In her view, Israel was retreating from the world – turning allies into adversaries and opportunities for engagement into dead ends. She saw Israel’s militaristic posture as one that encouraged detachment, a shift that, to her mind, contradicted the Jewish ethos of dialogue, influence, and bridge-building.
I was taken aback by her question, but instead of answering directly, I responded as a classic Jewish teacher would – with a question of my own: If someone is abused, physically or emotionally, what should their response be? The instinctive reaction is to withdraw, to build barriers, to ensure it never happens again. In the words of American psychologist Brené Brown, we “armor up” to protect ourselves from further harm.
Is this ideal? Of course not. As social beings, we thrive on connection, and deep, authentic relationships require openness and vulnerability. But when vulnerability has led to abuse – when trust has been shattered – the natural response is caution, even disengagement, at least until trust can be rebuilt.
Israel suffered, and is still suffering, from the worst security breach in its 76-year history, both literally and metaphorically. In such a moment, isolationism feels not just natural but necessary. When trust is broken and vulnerability leads to devastation, shutting ranks is often the prudent response.
So, I had justified Israel’s instinct to withdraw. But the lingering question remained: Is a policy of isolationism, of hostility toward the outside world, an authentic, appropriate Jewish response?
The journalist and I had been discussing Future Tense, the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’s important work, in which he challenges what he calls “the negative view of Jewish history” – the notion that Jews are destined to be, in the words of the Gentile prophet Balaam, “a people who dwell alone,” surrounded by enemies.
He implores us to recover “the classic terms of the Jewish story” – a people defined not by fate but by faith, not by victimhood but by agency. The Jewish mission, he argues, is one of engagement, of bringing moral and spiritual ideas into the world rather than retreating from it.
And yet, in light of October 7, one might see Rabbi Sacks’s view, formulated years ago, as overly optimistic or at least no longer relevant today. In fact, in this moment, Dara Horn’s provocative title, People Love Dead Jews, feels frighteningly more prescient as a tsunami of antisemitic propaganda surges across the globe, disturbingly reminiscent of the 1930s.
So, where does that leave us? If Judaism is neither purely isolationist nor fully universalist, how do we reconcile this tension?
THIS WEEK is Parashat Zachor – the Shabbat before Purim – when we read the commandment for us to remember Amalek (Israel’s arch-enemy) and their descendants and to orally recall the harm they inflicted upon the people of Israel.
Immediately following Israel’s battle with Amalek, the Torah portion we read a few weeks ago, we encounter Yitro, a Midianite priest and the father-in-law of Moses.
The contrast between Yitro and Amalek is striking: Amalek embodies brutality and destruction, preying on the weak, the defenseless, the women and children, without moral regard or mercy. Yitro approaches with wisdom and admiration, offering counsel that Moses not only hears but embraces.
This juxtaposition exemplifies how Jewish tradition deliberately challenges the binary thinking so prevalent today, forcing us to engage with dialectical paradigms and hold complexity and nuance.
Those who destroy, and those who uplift
Amalek is the “other” who seeks to destroy us. Yitro is the “other” who sees the greatness of our people and recognizes our mission.
By juxtaposing these two figures, the Torah forces us into a state of dissonance. How should we relate to the outside world? Do we see it as hostile, as Amalek – a force to be fought eternally and destroyed? Or do we see it as Yitro – a source of insight, a voice of wisdom that draws us beyond our own subjectivity?
The Israelites’ response to Yitro immediately on the heels of their battle with Amalek is both inspiring and edifying. Instead of closing ranks and “armoring up” against all external forces, they invite him to sit and share bread with them. They welcome his advice, which offers a fresh perspective that enriches their own vision of things.
Yitro’s guidance and moral clarity do not negate the moral mandate to fight Amalek (quintessential evil). The two are not analogous; they are different.
Israel today faces a version of this ancient dilemma. The betrayal, the loss, the staggering cruelty of October 7 demands a response. Some will argue that we must close ourselves off, retreat inward, and adopt a posture of survival at all costs. Others will insist that, despite everything, we must remain open to the world, to dialogue, to the possibility of engagement.
The truth is that neither approach is mutually exclusive. We must remember Yitro even as we confront Amalek. While a litany of suffering has long shaped the Jewish story, the challenge is to keep open the possibility of returning to Judaism’s vision of engagement and connection with the world even as we build walls to protect us against enemy invasion.
Retreat, defense, and protection are natural responses until trust can be rebuilt and Abraham’s open tent can be restored.
As Kohelet teaches, “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven... a time to kill and a time to heal... a time for war and a time for peace.” We might add: “A time for connection and a time to armor up.” The wisdom lies in knowing when each is necessary.
The writer is a lecturer in Jewish philosophy at Bar-Ilan University, a Sacks scholar, and the host of the newly-released Books and Beyond: The Rabbi Sacks Podcast, available on popular podcast platforms, including Spotify and Apple Podcasts.