[Rabbi Elazar] met an exceedingly ugly man. [The man] greeted him, “Peace be upon you.” [Rabbi Elazar], however, did not return his salutation. Instead, he said to him, “My, how ugly you are. Are all your fellow citizens as ugly as you?” The man replied, “I do not know, but go and tell the craftsman who made me, ‘How ugly is the vessel which you have made.’ ” When Rabbi Elazar realized he had acted inappropriately, he dismounted from the donkey on which he was riding and bowed before the man and said to him, “I submit myself to you, forgive me.” – Ta’anis 20b
We find that “for the sake of peace”, we are admonished to ask even idolatrous heathens about their welfare (Rambam, Hilchos Akum, 10:5), support their poor, visit their sick, and bury their dead (Rambam, Hilchos Avel, 14:12). Certainly, for the sake of that same peace we should discourage our children from speaking disparagingly about gentiles.
With such substantive reasons to treat our fellow human beings so carefully, why is it that our children lack this basic sensitivity? I believe that at least a portion of the answer emerges from the fine line we walk each day as members of Hashem’s am hanivchar, or chosen people.
We correctly teach our children from the youngest ages that Klal Yisrael occupies a special place in the world. We instruct our children of the singular importance of the Torah we teach and how we, in effect, sustain all of creation with it. We also point to the great degrees of respect and admiration with which so many gentile writers and thinkers have held us.
[The Jewish people] are not only of remarkable antiquity but have also lasted for an exceptionally long time…. For whereas the people of Greece and Italy, of Sparta, Athens and Rome, and others who came so much later have perished so long ago, these still exist, despite the efforts of so many powerful kings who have tried a hundred times to wipe them out…. They have always been preserved, however, and their preservation was foretold…. My encounter with this people amazes me. – Blaise Pascal, 17th century French scientist and religious philosopherIf statistics are right, the Jews constitute 1% of the human race. It suggests a nebulous, dim puff of stardust lost in the blaze of the Milky Way. Properly, the Jew ought to be hardly heard of; but he is heard of, has always been heard of. He is as prominent on the planet as any other people…. He has made a marvelous fight in the world, in all the ages; and has done it with his hands tied behind him. He could be vain of himself and be excused for it. – Mark Twain, “Concerning the Jews,” Harper’s Magazine, 1899
Children, however, with their unsophisticated minds, often fail to grasp the difference between being prideful of their own unique heritage, mission, and accomplishments, and being dismissive of others who lack this same lineage and mandate. They somehow confuse their sense of chosenness with the idea that other people are undeserving of basic respect, and perhaps should even be viewed with scorn and mockery.
So palpable is this sense of distinctiveness and superiority that gentiles who interface with our youngsters can often sense it, even if they are not told about it outright.
When I was a principal I once engaged a wonderful non-Jewish psychologist to work with a class that was struggling with social dynamics. In the many consultations he held with the yeshiva’s administration, as well in meetings with the parent body, the professional routinely made joking references to his status in the class as a “goyim” [sic], a title he learned from the students. To be sure, the class was, on the whole, well behaved and open to the ideas and strategies he shared. Still, they had managed to communicate their uncomplimentary feelings about his “goyim” status. In so doing, they committed, however inadvertently, an inexcusable chillul Hashem, a desecration of God’s Name.
