Breaking Bread with the Enemy: When Should We Talk, and When Should We Walk?©

Parashat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim 2025/5785 - Rabbi David Baum

I have to share something I’ve never shared before. It was during the first Trump administration, and I received a call from someone I’m connected to in my personal life who is active in the Republican Party. “I got you an invite to a meeting with Vice President Pence. It’s tomorrow morning in Miami, can you make it?” 

Many thoughts were swirling through my head. First, it’s the Vice President of the United States of America - are you kidding me? But, it also happens to be Vice President Pence. Should or shouldn’t I? If I don’t go, am I doing a disservice to myself, my congregation, the Jewish community, and the vulnerable in society who are at risk because of his policies? If I go, what should I say? Should I stay silent, should I speak up? What will my congregants think if I go?!? 

And then, I looked at my phone and opened my calendar app: 

Friday morning: 10:00 am - Son's Siddur ceremony at Day School

I kindly declined the invitation. I had a more important engagement to attend. 

But, let me ask you something: let’s say I didn’t have the siddur ceremony…what do you think I should have done? What would you have done? 

This issue is actually a lot more relevant than you may think. Let’s take, for instance, comedian Bill Maher’s dinner with President Trump. A couple of days later, Larry David published an op-ed: My Dinner with Hitler. 

The story I’m about to tell you is really not similar, except for the fact that it was a private meeting that went public.

My friend and colleague at BRS, Rabbi Efrem Goldberg, wrote about it in his latest blog posting. The title, “My Meeting with Ben-Gvir.” 

For those who don’t know, Itimar Ben-Gvir is Israel’s Minister of National Security, and he represents a stark shift in Israeli politics. Once convicted of inciting racism and supporting a terrorist organization, Ben-Gvir now holds one of the most powerful roles in the Israeli government. As leader of Otzma Yehudit, his ideology is rooted in the teachings of Rabbi Meir Kahane, promoting Jewish supremacy, opposing coexistence, and advocating for the expulsion of disloyal Arab citizens. He has been quoted as saying the following, "I would like to be appointed Minister for the Encouragement of Massive Emigration of Muslims from the land of Israel,” and “It is actually a good idea to hang in every synagogue a picture of our teacher and rabbi, Rabbi Kahane.” Let’s put it this way: on Ben-Gvir’s U.S. tour, he was denied a meeting with the Trump administration because he was too extreme. 

He almost spoke here, in Boca Raton. He asked Rabbi Goldberg if he could speak at BRS. Rabbi Goldberg immediately declined. But he met with him privately, and published the blog after the news of the private meeting went public. 

I had lunch with Rabbi Goldberg this week and fellow rabbis in the community, and, as expected, he received a lot of criticism on all sides for his article from people both inside and outside of the community. Some were upset that he met with Ben Gvir, and some were upset that he wouldn’t let Ben Gvir speak at his synagogue. 

It’s something Rabbi Goldberg and all rabbis have in common: we’re equal opportunity offenders. 

The question is, should we allow Jews who have espoused dangerous ideologies to speak from our bimahs? If not, should we meet with them privately, or say no? 

How do we treat the people we hate? How about the people whom we hate and are also dangerous? 

In this week’s double parashah, Acharei Mot-Kedoshim 

לֹא־תִשְׂנָא אֶת־אָחִיךָ בִּלְבָבֶךָ הוֹכֵחַ תּוֹכִיחַ אֶת־עֲמִיתֶךָ וְלֹא־תִשָּׂא עָלָיו חֵטְא׃ 

You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart. Reprove your kinsman but incur no guilt because of him. 

לֹא־תִקֹּם וְלֹא־תִטֹּר אֶת־בְּנֵי עַמֶּךָ וְאָהַבְתָּ לְרֵעֲךָ כָּמוֹךָ אֲנִי יְי׃ 

You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your fellow as yourself: I am the LORD.

What is interesting to note is we have two very rare occurrences in the Torah, together in one place: God legislating a feeling. God says, you’re not allowed to hate someone in your heart, literally in your very thoughts; and, in the next verse, you must love your neighbor as you love yourself. 

It’s hard to legislate a feeling. The question is, why does God veer into this territory of commanding feelings? 

Ramban, the French Medieval commentator, offers some insight:  

"You shall not hate your brother in your heart."

Ramban explains that hatred often stays hidden. People tend to hold onto negative feelings without expressing them openly, which creates inner deceit. As Proverbs says, “He who hates disguises it with his lips, but harbors deceit within.” That’s why the Torah specifically commands us not to hate someone in our heart—because that’s the most common and harmful kind of hatred. Even though all forms of hatred are forbidden, this verse targets the silent, inner kind.

"You shall surely rebuke your fellow."

This is a separate commandment: if someone wrongs you, you’re obligated to speak to them, to express your grievance in a constructive way. Don’t stay silent and stew in anger—engage with them. This is part of loving your fellow Jew.

"And do not bear sin because of him."

If you fail to rebuke someone who’s wronged you and instead bottle up resentment, you carry sin—either because you hate in your heart, or because you allow the other person to continue sinning without correction. Onkelos translates this as “do not receive guilt because of him,” meaning: if you don’t speak up, you may be punished for their wrongdoing too.

Then, the Torah continues: don’t take revenge, and don’t hold a grudge. Even if you manage not to hate the person, you might still dwell on what they did—so the Torah says: let it go. Don’t keep that transgression alive in your heart.

And finally, after clearing away hatred, resentment, and revenge, the Torah tells us the ideal: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” 

In order to get to love, you have to go through hate. 

So what happened in Rabbi Goldberg’s office? He wrote the following: 

“We sat together for almost an hour in my office, in which he shared the accomplishments that he is proud of and what remains on his agenda to achieve, explained what he would do to bring the hostages home, shared how he regrets some things he has said and done in his past, and talked about projects he is working on now.  I used the opportunity to both respectfully challenge him on things I find objectionable and also encourage him on what I think he could do better or more of…I have a relatively broad red line when it comes to fellow Jews, particularly leaders, who want to meet and have a conversation. If someone wants to meet, not for a photo op or publicity but for a genuine open conversation, why wouldn’t I want to take advantage of the opportunity to listen and learn and to influence and impact, particularly if it was someone I have differences with or even oppose? 

I believe this applies to all those to the right and left of me politically and religiously, in Israel or America. Certainly, it applies to our brothers and sisters, our fellow Jews who share our core values and are devoted to the good of the Jewish people, even if we may disagree with how they believe it should be achieved.  But I even believe it applies to the worst actors in politics with whom we have almost nothing in common and couldn't disagree more. I abhor everything Rashida Tlaib and Ilhan Omar stand for and their stances on Israel are dangerous if not outright evil. Of course they would never be welcomed to give a speech at our synagogue, but if they wanted to meet with me privately, why would I pass on the opportunity to tell elected members of Congress exactly how I feel about their positions and actions? Private dialogue and respectful debate will go much further in bringing change than shunning or boycotting."

So, what does the Torah tell us? It’s complicated, and each situation is different. As leaders in the Jewish community, we have a responsibility to keep the peace within the community, and not to allow dangerous ideologies to be spoken from the bimah, the center of the community. We have a responsibility to stand up to hate, not give it a platform in our holiest of spaces. 

There must be boundaries when it comes to the speech we allow in our sanctuaries and communal spaces, but that is another sermon. 

What I want to focus on is whether we should interact at all with people whom we really disagree with to the point of harboring feelings of hatred and resentment, even in private meetings. All too often, the go-to position is not to speak to each other, to keep the hate in, and I don’t think this is healthy either. 

As leaders in the Jewish community, it is so much easier to say no to dialogue than to say yes; we know the consequences of how people would view us, but we will never know the consequences of a conversation never had. 

Sometimes I wonder what I would have done had I not had Avi’s siddur ceremony. Would I have gone to the meeting? Would I have spoken up? Would I have stayed silent? Would I have walked away feeling proud — or uneasy? I’ll never know.

But I do know this: the tension of that moment has stayed with me. And maybe that’s precisely the point. Perhaps this tension itself is the Torah’s way of pushing us toward deeper understanding.

In his beautiful work Me’or Eynayim, Rabbi Menachem Nachum of Chernobyl teaches something profound about the commandment, "Love your neighbor as yourself." Every morning before we pray, we affirm this commandment, reminding ourselves that all creation—and especially the Jewish people—forms a single, unified whole, just like the Torah itself. A Torah scroll missing even a single letter is incomplete. Likewise, our community is only whole when we recognize the divine spark within each and every person. This doesn’t mean ignoring wrongdoing or wickedness. Rather, Rabbi Nachum encourages us to distinguish between the wrong actions we see and the holy essence that remains within every soul.

What, then, does it truly mean to "love your neighbor as yourself"? Just as we can acknowledge faults within ourselves without rejecting our entire being, we must extend this same compassion outward.

The way we judge ourselves profoundly shapes the way we treat others. After all, each of us carries within us a divine spark, a holy letter in the Torah. Perhaps this is the Torah’s deepest challenge: to see past anger and hatred, and recognize the holiness connecting us all.