blogs/rabbi-huberman

The late David Levine used to tell a story about the time he became a “tourist attraction” while hospitalized in a small rural community.

As a teenager, following the death of his parents, David made his way to the nearest Interstate, stuck out his thumb and began a healing journey across America.

At some point, he became ill, entered a rural Texas hospital and was admitted.

As David would later reflect, there weren’t many residents in that town named Levine, and when he saw many local citizens enter his hospital room and silently smile at him, he assumed they were just being friendly.

Finally, David said to one of them, “What a friendly town you have. Do you visit all strangers who are admitted to hospital?” 

The visitor paused for a moment and replied: “Actually no. It’s that we don’t get many Jews in these parts. People are coming to see your horns.”

Soon after that, David declared himself healed, discharged himself, and as the saying goes, “headed out of Dodge.”

Over many years, both Jews and Christians have often asked me about the trope that “Jews have horns.” Where does it come from?

The answer can be found in this week’s Torah portion.

As this week’s parashah, Ki Tissa, opens, God instructs Moses to collect a half shekel from each Israelite to help support and staff the Tabernacle housing the 10 Commandments.

The portion includes the story of the Golden Calf, and how Moses—as he observes the Israelites worshipping this large idol—smashes the original 10 Commandments, ultimately returning with a second set.

But as the parashah concludes, the Torah describes a unique phenomenon, which perhaps everyone has experienced at some point in their lives.

It is a feeling, a glow, a spiritual buzz.

The Torah describes Moses basking in God’s presence, perhaps inspired that the Israelites had returned to spiritual worship.

It describes Moses as “radiant.” The word for this spiritual glow is karan. (Exodus 34:30). In biblical context, light often symbolizes purity, truth and divine revelation.

Enter Latin translator St. Jerome who—in the fourth century—sought to present the Torah in line with Christian culture and religious doctrine.

He took the word karan—either accidentally or by design—and translated it based on the word keren, which means horns. What a difference a letter can make.

The error, which became part of many non-Hebrew translations, was extended to read, “and Moses grew horns.”

At a time when Jews in Europe were often depicted as devils, the image was portrayed by artists, such as Michelangelo and Donatello, which led to its becoming mainstream within many Christian communities and countries.

Perhaps the idea of Jews and horns—enduring even after the mistranslation was exposed—is not surprising.

Over time, antisemitic leaders—religious and political—have used many images and many antisemitic threads to reinforce the belief that Jews are evil outsiders.

According to Medieval culture, it was the Jews who poisoned the wells that caused the bubonic plague. A forgery during the early 1900s, the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, linked Jews with a worldwide cabal designed to financially enslave the rest of the world.

Muslim texts frequently refer to us as descendants of “monkeys and pigs.” And the list goes on.

In fact, it really doesn’t take much for the non-Jewish world to label us in the most disgusting and antisemitic ways possible and blame us for everything from a slow economy to a world war.

Recent anti-Israel protests have commandeered these antisemitic images as they parade through the streets, featuring images of Benjamin Netanyahu and others with horns.

These are based on a mistranslation of this week’s Torah portion.

As I sit here in Toronto, alongside my ailing 100-year-old mother, sounds of Purim celebrations echo through the halls of the Baycrest Jewish Home for the Aged.

And I am reminded of how important it is to embrace these times of celebration and victory over antisemitism.

Perhaps most importantly, we need to educate ourselves about how to respond to these racist beliefs; for starters, the word karan means “radiance” not horns.

Light and peace are at the core of Judaism, and while at times, we must descend into darkness to combat Haman, Hamas and others of their ilk, we believe in an eventual return to peace, for the word “peace” concludes every formal prayer we recite.

And while those who oppose Israel and despise Jews may commandeer these grossly mistranslated terms like karan to vilify us, it is our everlasting duty to douse these lies with light.

During his later years, David Levine shared the story of the horns with me several times.

And, as he observed, it inspired him to raise a family steeped in Judaism. David and his wife, Millie, became pillars of our community.

He stands as an example of how vital it is for us to drill down into those horrid, mistranslated images, and counter them with education, knowledge and kindness.

As the Shema commands, we must teach “these words”—positive words—to our children and grandchildren.

Our tradition reminds us—especially during the holiday of Purim—that in every generation, Hamans will come and go, but through faith, acts of integrity, and dedication to God and truth, we will endure.

And that like Moses during those trying times, while others endorse the horns of hatred, we embrace light.

And we will survive.

Happy Purim. Shabbat Shalom. Kol tuv.

Rabbi Irwin Huberman