In this week’s Torah reading of Koraḥ (Numbers 16-18), the title character leads a revolt against Moses, accusing him of corruptly giving his brother Aaron the position of high priest. The rebellion ends when the earth opens and swallows Koraḥ and his closest associates, and a heavenly fire consumes the rest of his followers. Understanding Koraḥ as an “archetypal populist,” Jonathan Sacks seeks to learn from the aftermath of the revolt:

First Koraḥ [claims that] the establishment (Moses and Aaron) is corrupt. Moses has been guilty of nepotism in appointing his own brother as high priest. He has kept the leadership roles within his immediate family instead of sharing them out more widely. Second, Koraḥ presents himself as the people’s champion. “The whole community,” he says, “is holy.” There is nothing special about you, Moses and Aaron. We have all seen God’s miracles and heard His voice. We all helped build His sanctuary. Koraḥ is posing as the democrat so that he can become the autocrat. . . .

For once in his life, Moses acted autocratically, putting God, as it were, to the test [by predicting a miraculous death for the rebels before hearing God’s response]. . . . Yet this dramatic effort at conflict resolution by the use of force failed completely. The . . . people, despite their terror, were unimpressed. “On the next day, however, the whole congregation of the Israelites rebelled against Moses and against Aaron, saying, ‘You have killed the people of the Lord’” (Numbers 17:6). Jews have always resisted autocratic leaders.

What is even more striking is the way the sages framed the conflict. Instead of seeing it as a black-and-white contrast between rebellion and obedience, they insisted on the validity of argument in the public domain. They said that what was wrong with Koraḥ and his fellows was not that they argued with Moses and Aaron, but that they did so “not for the sake of Heaven.” . . .

Judaism does not silence dissent: to the contrary, it dignifies it. This was institutionalized in the biblical era in the form of the prophets [and in] the rabbinic era it lived in the culture of argument evident on every page of the Mishnah, Talmud, and their commentaries. In the contemporary state of Israel, argumentativeness is part of the very texture of its democratic freedom, in the strongest possible contrast to much of the rest of the Middle East.

Stephen Daisley writes about the slaying of Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim:

Yaron and Sarah were murdered in a climate of lies and vilification and hatred. . . . The more institutions participate in this collective madness, the more madness there will be. The more elected officials and NGOs misrepresent the predictable consequences of asymmetric warfare in densely populated territories, where much of the infrastructure of everyday life has a dual civilian/terrorist purpose, the more the citizenries of North America and Europe will come to regard Israelis and Jews as a people who lust unquenchably after blood.

The most intolerant anti-Zionism is becoming a mainstream view, indulged by liberal societies, more concerned with not conflating irrational hatred of Israel with irrational hatred of Jews—as though the distinction between the two is all that well defined anymore.

For years now, and especially after the October 7 massacre, the call has gone up from the pro-Palestinian movement to put Palestine at the heart of Western politics. To pursue the struggle against Zionism in every country, on every platform, and in every setting. To wage worldwide resistance to Israel, not only in Wadi al-Far’a but in Washington, DC. “Globalize the intifada,” they chanted. This is what it looks like.