The Tarred Feathers of Hate : Beyond Farrakhan and anti-Semitism, there are issues of division and unity that all Americans must face.

All race hatred is essentially equal, if not at inception, then in result. Nazis, the Ku Klux Klan, the Palestinian extremist group Hamas, and lately, Louis Farrakhan and Baruch Goldstein, all are filled with the virus of loathing some objectified “other.” In fulfillment of that loathing, some use ovens, some use only words.

While the Jewish community reels from both the Farrakhan controversy and the massacre in Hebron, it is not for Jews alone to explore the meaning of hate. There is no doubt that many critics of the Jewish community would like this to happen. They urge us to discriminate between really dangerous speech (David Duke) and presumably impotent rage (Farrakhan). This presumes that hate is a problem only for Jews. Not so. In fact, if there is a reason why the Jewish community came down so heavily on Farrakhan aide Khalid Abdul Muhammad, it was that Muhammad’s speech was filled with venom from across the spectrum, including Catholics and gays. If nothing else, the Jewish community was trying to establish a bottom line on interethnic relations: Hate speech is not to be tolerated, not merely because it not good manners, but because it leads inevitably to violence.

Apparently, that effort has backfired. Weeks of stories and TV shows about the Nation of Islam leader have turned an issue about racial hate on its head. It is Jewish leaders who have been marginalized, not Farrakhan, and the matter turned into a question of whether blacks have enough self-respect to reject alleged Jewish intrusion into the African American agenda. This has only intensified since the Hebron massacre. Compared with the American-born Jewish killer, critics say, Farrakhan’s followers pose not much danger at all.

But America must establish some common ground on hate, not to distinguish one’s own devil from others’, but to learn from one another’s mistakes. Here’s where we might start:

* Hate speech is dangerous. The American Jewish community went through a 20-year effort to isolate Rabbi Meir Kahane, whose “Never Again!” slogan was first used against African Americans in Brooklyn. Jews pushed Kahane out of the country, thinking Israel would make short shrift of him. But in Israel, he found fertile soil among that small segment of the settler movement that grounds itself in fanaticism. As the Jewish community mourns with Palestinians for the atrocities committed in Kahane’s name, American Jews worry: What more could we have done? Hate is a weed, and you never can tell when it’s out. As for potent vs. impotent hate, remember that a failed Austrian painter turned into Der Fuhrer.

* Unity has costs. Here’s an issue with wide impact beyond African Americans and Jews, currently preoccupying, for example, the Latino community in Los Angeles. Is it wise to use xenophobic politics to bring one’s own group together? Does one reject all criticism by outsiders as “meddling?” Certainly the Jewish community, with its intense interest in Israel and anti-Semitism, has not been above using fear of others as a galvanizing force. America’s liberal Jews struggled against charges of “traitor” when criticizing Likud’s “break the bones” policy against West Bank Palestinians. But there are times when achieving a united front is critical and times when breaking ranks is the higher good.

* The need for coalition remains. Hate speech, even that presumed innocent of violent intent, keeps people at arm’s length. That’s why the call to denounce Farrakhan was so crucial for the Jewish community. In the search for coalition partners with common values, some claim to be able to listen to anti-Semitic hate speech while also working for the common good across ethnic lines. It’s a hard sell. For Jews, it has been breathtaking to discover how frequently significant policy disputes are accompanied by a blase anti-Semitism that we are expected to grin and bear. Jewish leaders have traditionally restrained their response in the interest of solidarity and good will with others. No more. Bad deeds, says the Talmud, are like an open pillow case; you never know where the feathers will land. In the instances of Farrakhan and the Hebron massacre, the feathers have flown home.