This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2015, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
The truth is that Donald Trump frightens me. His rhetoric reminds me of a not-so-distant past when a specific people was called out, demonized and targeted as a scapegoat for the fears of a society. But above and beyond my fear for Trump, I worry that he has a following. Trump's lead in the Republican polls indicates that his message of anti-Muslim activism is resonating with many people across the nation.
I understand what it is to be afraid. I understand what it is to be angry. I have lived in Israel during wars, spent time learning to teach when schools were devastated by their own students, spent my days in Manhattan trying to make sense of the smoke wafting uptown and calling friends when their lives seemed too close to tragedy. I am not alone in my experience of terror. None of us is.
When we decide that there is only one way to respond and that the response should be a blanket statement of hate and discrimination, we do a disservice to ourselves and our country.
Donald Trump's words have a ring because they sound easy; they seem to solve a problem. But his "solution" is no solution. Our Muslim neighbors are not to blame for our fear and our anger. Instead of demonizing those within our own community, we need to understand their own hopes and fears. We need to embrace them as friends and people. They too have families and aspirations.
I worry for those who — because they wear a veil or a beard, because they speak with an accent or have a different color skin — have become an object for disdain. And I worry for those of us who don't wear religious markings and who must defend others' freedoms. Will we lose our humanity to our fear? Will we terrorize those who represent that which we do not understand?
At Congregation Kol Ami, we have had the goal and the practice of meeting the Muslim community and its members through shared events, holidays, prayer and meals. We have made a point to bridge perceived gaps to learn where our common ground lies.
Please work with me to keep lines of communication open. Please choose to see the complicated truth, instead of jumping for a quick answer. Please support our innocent neighbors. Please, choose your own humanity and the humanity of others.
Ilana Schwartzman is rabbi of Congregation Kol Ami in Salt Lake City.