Stomping out Lanternflies- and Antisemitism
You are not obligated to complete the work, but nor are you free to abandon it
This essay is part of a new collection of work inspired by the anthology On Being Jewish Now: Reflections of Authors and Advocates. Want to contribute? Instructions here. Subscribe here.
At a recent children’s birthday party near the Blue Ridge Mountains, I was in Prepared and Gracious Mom mode. I sunscreened and supervised my daughter as she mounted the zip line. I coached my son to wait patiently for cake and say “thank you” when he received his slice. Yet even as I carried out my Gracious Mom routine, I was distracted by an ominous presence. It was the menacing insect I had been seeing for months on Department of Agriculture-issued flyers, alongside the directive: “If you see it, kill it.” Big and clumsy, with striking red and black markings, the invasive spotted lanternfly would be attractive if I didn’t know what it was.
Native to Asia, these bugs never should have made it to the United States. Yet, thanks to our global economy, they have traversed continents, traveling from northern to southern America in a matter months. We were warned—online, in print, by word of mouth—and now, here they are: eating local plants, from grapes to hops, and spreading fungal disease through their saliva, ravaging entire ecosystems.
As the birthday girl opened her gifts, my focus kept alighting on those villainous lanternflies, trespassing on what should have been a joyous space—scuttling along the ground and crawling on my dark, curly Ashkenazi hair. I stomped on as many as I could, taking a perverse satisfaction in the crunch they made beneath my sandals. And yet I knew that no amount of individual stomping out would make a real difference. They are here to stay, they are resilient, and they are unfathomably destructive.
There have been rumblings among my friends. Jews in America have a target on their back; our loyalty to the nation is in question. Antisemitism is much like spotted lanternflies: we hear that a wave is making its way across the world to the US, and suddenly, like a plague, it is here. At first, it’s just a few incidents, easy to dismiss. But soon enough, it expands. It threatens our schools with bombs and guns, beats up college kids, even stabs us on the way home from Shabbos dinner.
Hitler and his ilk have long used insectile language to dehumanize Jews— calling us “vermin,” “parasites” and “worms.” In one memorable cartoon from the Nazi newspaper Der Stürmer, a big-nosed, leering caterpillar is captioned as “the Jew parasite.” The ever-mutating hatred is a persistent and insidious enemy. Consider that evergreen source of antisemitic ideology, the 1903 pamphlet “The Protocols of the Elders of Zion,” which purported to document a council of Jews plotting to take over the world. It’s been proven fake, but it’s somehow too evil to ever die.
When I hear dehumanizing rhetoric against Jews—or any other group—I stomp it out. If I don’t, the infestation will spread. Recognize an old trope being used in a new context? Point it out privately. Explain its painful history, while acknowledging that you, too, have made mistakes. I only call someone out if I have a real relationship with them—otherwise, I’m just lecturing, and unlikely to influence their behavior. I know it’s the smallest contribution. Maybe stomping out antisemitism is as impossible as stopping the onslaught of the spotted lanternfly. Yet what choice do we have but to try?
Back at the party, I heard my son tell another boy gravely: “Our mission is to kill as many lanternflies as possible.” As the festivities wound down, I saw his new friend stomp out a few.
“Hey, buddy, you missed one,” I said, smiling encouragingly and pointing him in the right direction.
“Thanks!” he replied, gleefully planting his foot down on the lanternfly. “I got it!” I gave him a high five.
I have a favorite line from Pirkei Avot: “You are not obligated to complete the work, but nor are you free to abandon it.” You can’t repair the entire world on your own, but you have a sacred duty to stomp out the lanternflies that creep onto your path. The good news is, you don’t have to do it alone.
Diana Black is an actor, writer, educator, and artist who thrives on collaboration and research deep-dives. She lives in Virginia's beautiful Shenandoah Valley with her husband, two kids, and four cats.
This essay is part of a new collection of work inspired by the anthology On Being Jewish Now: Reflections of Authors and Advocates. Want to contribute? Instructions here. Subscribe here.
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Indeed, you are not alone!