O pinion
What I Learned When I Sat Down With a Repentant White Supremacist
RABBI AVRAM MLOTEK
BEFORE I MET HIM, I saw
Benjamin McDowell’s name in
the news. Inspired by Dylan
Roof, the notorious shooter
responsible for the Charleston
church massacre, he planned
an attack on a synagogue that
was thwarted by FBI agents.

No lives were lost. No
lasting physical harm was
done, though the synagogue
members certainly felt threat-
ened and terrified. I read the
news item online and, though
I didn’t yet know the word,
doomscrolled onward.

I probably wouldn’t have
thought much about McDowell
again had I not seen a video
of him in my Facebook feed
three years later. Rabba Karpov,
the rabbi of Jewish Center of
Indian Country, Oklahoma,
had posted a YouTube video
uploaded by McDowell in
which he expressed remorse for
his past behavior. (The video
has since been removed, though
I don’t know why or by whom.)
I watched the video and was
genuinely moved. Something
had happened to Benji while in
prison. Here he was, talking about
the power of love and light to
transcend differences, political
and religious, and how we were all
part of one larger human family.

How many of us have undergone
such a profound, public trans-
formation from deadly darkness
to hope? How many ex-white
supremacists are out there seeking
to amend their past ways?
A few nights before I had
watched the film “Burden,”
which tells the true story of
how a Black minister, Rev.

Kennedy, welcomed a former
KKK member, Mike Burden,
into his home and changed his
life forever. Inspired by this
radical act of loving kindness
on the reverend’s part, I felt
compelled to act on the video
of McDowell. I reached out to
him directly on Facebook.

Even though I have invited
anti-Semites into my home
before, I generally believe it is
not the Jewish people’s respon-
sibility to combat anti-Semitism
— in the same way that it is
not Black people’s responsibility
to dismantle systemic racism.

Racism, sexism, anti-Semitism
and xenophobia are prejudices
that plague society, and we as a
nation bear a communal respon-
sibility toward eradicating them.

But a communal respon-
sibility is fulfilled through
countless individual acts. And
I knew that encounters with
people from such a polar opposite
outlook can be sacred and poten-
tially profoundly impactful.

After some texting and
a phone call, I invited Benji
onto my show, “A Rabbi and
a — Walk Into a Zoom.” I’ve
hosted priests, Holocaust survi-
vors, doctors, musicians, actors
— even President Barack
Obama’s speechwriter — but
never before a repentant white
supremacist. And so, we had
our event’s name: “A Rabbi and
a Former White Supremacist
Walk Into a Zoom.”
He described meeting with
an undercover FBI agent who
was ready to sell him weapons to
use against the Jewish commu-
nity. The FBI had tracked his
hateful rhetoric online and
sought to see just how close this
one blogger was to bringing his
online musings into fruition.

What struck me most
during our conversation —
which took place on Sept. 14,
right before Rosh Hashanah —
was the dissonance McDowell
described between his online
and real-life experiences.

Online, he was being incul-
cated with and reflecting back
an ideology centered on the
idea that Black people and Jews
are destroying society. But he
said that even when he was
writing hateful messages about
Black people online, he always
treated them fairly when he
encountered them in real life.

“And Jews?” I asked.

He had never met a Jew
before. Our conversation, he
said, was the first time he had
knowingly spoken to a Jew.

The rabbis of the Talmud
wrote of the spiritual potency
of teshuvah, a genuine return
to the self, heartfelt repentance.

They wrote that teshuvah has the
power to transform intentional
sins into meritorious deeds.

A preposterous sentiment, I
used to think. However, when
speaking with Benji, I saw how
teshuvah indeed could be seen
this way.

His intentional hateful
acts had brought him to this
meritorious place of seeking
out reconciliation.

Though our country is
engulfed in national turmoil,
and we are each convinced of
our own political righteous-
ness, McDowell said he was
undergoing a personal transfor-
mation. (He told me he doesn’t
follow the news much because
its toxic nature isn’t the most
conducive to his emotional
recovery, as he puts it.)
How many of us have given up
on Fox News viewers, or MSNBC
viewers, because they are dead
set in their ways? How many of
us refuse to engage with someone
who says “All Lives Matter” or
“Black Lives Matter” because we
are so disgusted by the senti-
ments we think are motivating
them? If Benji has taught me
anything, it is to never believe
the lie that we are conditioned
to believe: that people cannot
change. People can.

It is ironic that I encoun-
tered Benji through Facebook,
a social media giant that is
often under criticism for
fueling misinformation and
polarization. I myself experi-
enced Facebook’s mishandling
of hate speech when its moder-
ators removed a post I wrote
about being assaulted by
Farrakhan supporters on a
subway car.

Yet the platform, for all of its
flaws, permitted Benji and me
to connect. But as Benji himself
puts it, it was also the echo
chamber of the online groups
he found that fueled his toxic
thinking. If Facebook chose to
actively combat misinformation
and hate speech, who knows
how many Benjis would be
steered away from falsehoods?
Facebook’s new policy banning
Holocaust denial on its platform
is a welcome change that comes
several years too late.

In the age of COVID-19,
we are online more than ever.

For me, Benji’s story serves
as a cautionary tale about the
pitfalls of echo chambers, a
reminder to Facebook of the
heavy burden they now carry
as a connector of people.

But may we also remember
that there are people behind the
profiles. Real human beings with
emotional range and capacity.

Let us never lose sight of each
other’s humanity, no matter how
deeply we doomscroll. l
Rabbi Avram Mlotek is a founder
of Base Hillel, a home focused
rabbinic ministry in 10 cities
worldwide. He is the author of “Why
Jews Do That or 30 Questions Your
Rabbi Never Answered.” This piece
originally appeared in JTA.org.

A Day in the Life of a COVID-19 Front-Line Worker
BY ESTHER LAPIN
THE LAST FEW months, in
the depths of the pandemic, I
have been extremely quiet about
my role as a COVID-19 front-
line respiratory therapist. I was
concerned that people would
be uncomfortable around me
given my close proximity to the
18 NOVEMBER 5, 2020
plague. “Do you work directly
with COVID patients?” they
might ask while cautiously
retreating backwards tight-
ening their masks.

I am caught between feeling
proud of my work with virus
patients and feeling like I am
the virus itself. I reclaim my
dignity as I respond, “Yes, I
JEWISH EXPONENT
am a respiratory therapist, and
it is my job to be there for
these patients.” I don’t get to
choose which patients I take
care of — COVID or not, they
are my patients and I am a
very vital part in keeping them
alive. Why shouldn’t I be proud
of that?
Although respiratory thera-
pists have their busy, intense
and overwhelming season
during winters when respi-
ratory illnesses are at their
highest, even those paled in
comparison to the emotional
and mental strain I experi-
enced while working during
this pandemic.

What follows is a description
JEWISHEXPONENT.COM