Jewish culture was born around a text. Not around a charismatic leader, not around a one-time mystical experience, and not around political authority. A text. Books that were read, studied, interpreted, and transmitted from generation to generation. Already in the ancient nickname “People of the Book” there is a profound statement about how Judaism understands knowledge, authority, and disagreement.
Traditional Jewish study does not seek silence. It is noisy, full of voices, oppositions, and questions. A page of Talmud does not offer one clear answer, but presents a process. Different opinions coexist, even when one is accepted as law. There is no attempt to erase what was not accepted. The opposite: it is preserved as part of the intellectual memory.
In contrast, modern cancel culture is based on the opposite logic. It seeks to eliminate voices, not to include them. An opinion perceived as problematic is not met with counterargument, but with calls for exclusion. The person themselves becomes the focus, not the idea. The discourse does not expand—it shrinks.
This gap is not accidental. Jewish culture is built on the assumption that truth is complex, and that no single person has a monopoly on it. Therefore, debate is not a threat but a tool. It allows ideas to be tested, weaknesses exposed, and positions sharpened. Even when a decision is made, it does not negate the legitimacy of the other path.
Cancel culture, on the other hand, struggles to bear complexity. It operates in a sharp moral world, with good and evil, victims and oppressors, without middle ground. In such a structure, there is no room for long discussion, context, or change of position. A mistake is not a stage in learning, but a stain on identity.
When Jews and Israel enter this discourse, they encounter double difficulty. On one hand, a culture rooted in debate and interpretation. On the other, an arena that punishes deviation from the line. The result is constant tension, and sometimes actual silencing. Complex Jewish voices do not fit well into a system that prefers slogans.
In this sense, “People of the Book” is not just a historical description. It is a cultural alternative. It offers a model in which knowledge is not the property of one group, disagreement is not danger, and identity does not disintegrate under questioning. It is a demanding model that requires patience, listening, and willingness to hold tension.
Cancel culture promises quick justice, but often creates fear. People learn what not to say, not what to think. Such discourse may seem moral, but it is intellectually poor. It struggles to deal with complex reality, real conflicts, and human beings who do not fit convenient templates.
Jewish tradition is not perfect, and it too has limits. But it offers something sorely missing in contemporary discourse: trust in the human capacity to deal with disagreement without falling apart. It does not promise harmony, but responsibility.
In a world that rushes to cancel, perhaps there is value in returning to a tradition that teaches slow reading, deep thinking, and fearless debate—not to agree, but to understand. This is not nostalgia. It is a serious proposal for a different culture.
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