Rabbi Shlomo Litvin loves to talk.
In years past, he鈥檚 parked himself at a table on the University of Kentucky campus where he works, with a sign prompting passersby to 鈥淎sk the rabbi anything.鈥 The pandemic put a damper on his goal of having coffee with 100 strangers a year, but he鈥檚 found fresh ways to connect with new people, hosting discussions on the audio-only app Clubhouse. His one rule is that everyone asking a question must be ready to learn.
So when he was confronted with an antisemitic slur outside his family home on campus this spring, it was no surprise that he insisted on talking to 鈥渢he yeller.鈥
A graduation party was bouncing across the street and Rabbi Litvin was on the phone with a student, when the slur cut through the night like a knife: 鈥淜ill the ----s.鈥澛
Rabbi Litvin could have called the police or reported the hateful speech. But he believes that 鈥渋n a place of great darkness, a small amount of light makes a great glow.鈥 So he crossed the street.
After an hour, the person who had yelled the slur came outside. Alone, the two men spoke about the history of antisemitism, including losses suffered by the rabbi鈥檚 own family during the Holocaust.
The young man grew apologetic, and the rabbi invited him over for Shabbat dinner, for coffee, or just to talk. So far, the student hasn鈥檛 taken him up on it, but Rabbi Litvin says these kinds of conversations sometimes spark new friendships.聽
That鈥檚 what happened when a student asked him how Jews ended up controlling the banking industry, a stereotype that underpins some conspiracy theories. Rabbi Litvin calmly explained the historical roots of that particular misconception. That student became a regular at the rabbi鈥檚 Purim celebrations.
In this and so many other instances, the rabbi might have been forgiven for responding with a rebuke. But that approach, he says, doesn鈥檛 allow the other person any room for growth or grace.聽
鈥淭he lie has to be countered,鈥 Rabbi Litvin says. 鈥淏ut the whole conversation doesn鈥檛 have to be a condemnation.鈥