For all that America’s Jews feel safer on the side with the red ties and red hats, there are red flags there, too

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fter the succah boards were put away, my washing machine had resumed its earnest chugging, and the euphoria of our nation’s Succos miracle began to feel more like a fact and less like a fantasy, I noticed a disturbing story in the news. Politico had obtained and published a private Telegram chat. Its members were young Republicans — aspiring future leaders and politicians — and their conversation was a noxious brew of racial slurs, violent language, and Nazi references.

When one member promised that the group would vote for the most right-wing person to lead the organization, a member responded, “Great. I love Hitler.” The response: a smiley face.

In another exchange, a member threatened that “everyone that votes no” in a vote for the chairman “is going to the gas chamber.”

The leak raised an immediate ruckus. Some of the chat members lost their jobs, some refused to comment, some apologized. (Predictably, some ascribed the leak to a rival looking to take them down.)

Many politicians — Democrat and Republican — condemned the language and sentiments expressed by the group. Vice President J.D. Vance refused to join the chorus of condemnation. He pointed out equal if not more shocking violent language on the left side of the political aisle, and said, “The reality is that kids do stupid things, especially young boys.”

The “young boys” in question were in their 20s and 30s. Some had jobs in local government. So yes, kids do stupid things. Adults do stupid things. The hope is that adults are held to a different standard. Whatever the age, the stupidity seems to be exacerbated by the medium: In so-called private chats, where the dialogue is quick and seemingly ephemeral, pixels appear and disappear so quickly that nothing seems quite real.

On one level, the chat was a troubling reminder that for all that America’s Jews feel safer on the side with the red ties and red hats, there are red flags there, too.

Somewhere in the back of our minds, along with cobwebbed history lessons, we hold the information that the American Right has traditionally been the home of neo-Nazis and white supremacists. But for the most part — especially for those of us who live in big blue cities — the extreme Right’s penchant for hate was an answer on a history test, nothing too current. We didn’t view those radical fringes as immediate and as dangerous as the radical Leftist sentiment that swept toward the moderate mainstream, bringing havoc to cities and hatred to campuses as it muzzled intellectual discourse, educators and thinkers, and even individual liberties.

Now the voices on the radical right — Fuentes, Owens, Carlson, among others — have been getting louder. The voices on that leaked chat are nowhere near as resonant, but they serve as a troubling harmony to those influential choruses. Extremes always exist and are never a healthy place for us. The question is whether their influence remains limited to the fringes. On ideological, social, religious, and political issues, we’ve seen the radical ideas of the Left influence, tilt, and sometimes even overtake, the views of the moderate faction. Are we seeing the same trend take root on the other side? Are those young Republicans the future of the party? Are their violent pro-Nazi statements a harbinger of more hate to come?

Whatever the case, there’s a solid message in that leaky chat: We’re a nation that dwells alone. No political party is the natural habitat of a Torah Jew. Voting for a candidate for practical reasons is one thing; embracing a party as our ideological home is another.

The leaky chat raises other questions — not about politics, but about communication. There’s something about screens that elicits a very different style of communication. And not just among Young Republicans.

Even in our own frum circles, many group chats become a sort of stage where members jostle for the spotlight; knowing there’s an audience brings out a certain brand of showmanship. Lots of people say things they don’t really mean, or don’t mean quite to that degree, in an effort to impress or shock or amuse their friends.

Screens also feel less real. Less permanent. Conversations vanish, streams keep flowing, and no one remembers what they read last night. And that lack of permanence leads to a lack of accountability. It’s all going to disappear anyway, so while the attention is on you, you can shoot down ideas in very clever or abrupt ways, be your most judgmental self, poke fun at people or poke holes in ideas. Soon enough it’s all gone, it’s all good.

Screen communications are also so much less formal. It’s like schmoozing in a camp bunkhouse late at night, with the lights out, versus sitting at a formal meeting in a suit and tie: The usual barriers of formality and privacy melt away. On a screen, people can share very personal information about family dynamics, children’s or parents’ behavior, and personal struggles – information they wouldn’t likely share in person. (In some cases, this is probably a helpful and healthy development, allowing people to seek and get help for issues they’d have a hard time discussing aloud. In many other cases, it encourages dangerous sharing and access.)

But sometimes it’s the opposite. Sometimes the power of the screen is that it’s so much less immediate and personal. Katherine Dee, who covers internet culture, published a follow-up analysis in Politico after the Young Republicans chat was made public. Screens, she writes, create a remove in any conversation. “If people had to look others in the eye while saying vile things, if they had to hear their own voices speaking hatred aloud, much of this rhetoric wouldn’t exist. Screens create distance, and distance changes moral calculus.”

I know I’ve sent messages with wording a lot sharper, more negative, than I would have used to address the recipient were we sitting in one room and talking it out in person. Not only is there a certain relish in inserting the right dash of humor, the blunt touch of cynicism – a level of intentionality that I can achieve with written language that just doesn’t come as easily when I’m speaking – those screen messages provide enough distance to ensure a different focus. Namely, a focus on me and my agenda. When everything is filtered through a screen, I can focus on getting what I want, or relaying my take, or being “heard,” without having to take into account the facial expressions, tone of voice, or nonverbal cues that will inevitably shape an in-person conversation.

When it came to the Young Republicans, all the advantages of the chat turned to haunt them. Whether they meant what they said or just used bombast to impress, amuse, or intimidate; whether there is real hate behind their words or just an edgelord type of braggadocio – the media and their bosses took their grotesque words at face value.

These young men clearly enjoyed their time in the digital spotlight, but for quite a few, the show – or the job – is over. And while they may have seen the ephemeral nature of screen communications as a license to joke about gas chambers, the leaking and publication of their chat ensured that their casual dialogue had an impact more powerful, and more lasting, than an in-person conversation. Turns out, there is an ultimate Screen Saver.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1084)