The Jew does not wish to be isolated. He fears being alone

Host: The night hung low over the city, a heavy mist rolling through empty streets that glimmered beneath orange lamplight. Inside a small, dimly lit café near the river, smoke curled lazily above half-finished cups of coffee. The sound of a distant train cut through the silence — a lonely whistle swallowed by the fog.
Jack sat near the window, his coat draped over the chair, his eyes fixed on the reflections of rain tracing down the glass. Across from him, Jeeny’s fingers rested lightly on a book, her brow drawn in thought, her eyes carrying both warmth and concern.

Jeeny: “You’ve been quiet, Jack. What’s haunting you tonight?”

Jack: “A line I read earlier. Meir Kahane once said, ‘The Jew does not wish to be isolated. He fears being alone, without allies.’ It’s been stuck in my head ever since.”

Jeeny: “It’s a painful truth. A people who have seen exile, hatred, and walls built around them — of course they fear isolation.”

Jack: “Or maybe it’s more than fear. Maybe it’s dependence — the instinct of survival. When a group knows it can’t stand alone, it looks for allies, even if those allies might one day turn their backs.”

Host: A gust of wind pressed against the window, and for a moment, the café flickered with shadows. Jack leaned forward, his voice low, almost like a confession.

Jack: “You see, Jeeny, it’s not just about Jews. It’s about every human who’s ever been cornered. People claim they want freedom, but what they really crave is belonging. The tribe, the flag, the nation — they all give the same illusion of safety.”

Jeeny: “Illusion, perhaps, but also connection. No one was born to live in exile, Jack. Not physically, not emotionally. To be alone — truly alone — is to feel like your existence has no echo in the world.”

Host: The clock above the counter ticked slowly, the barista wiping down the same cup again and again, as though the moment itself refused to move.

Jack: “But isolation is also the price of integrity. Every great thinker, every prophet, every rebel stood alone at some point. You think of Spinoza, excommunicated by his own. Or Kafka, writing in the shadows, doubting his own worth. Even Einstein — he walked between worlds, belonging to none. That’s the fate of those who think beyond the tribe.”

Jeeny: “Yet their loneliness gave birth to light, didn’t it? They may have been rejected by their people, but they spoke to all of humanity. Isn’t that the deepest kind of belonging — one that transcends borders, faiths, and fear?”

Host: A soft tension settled between them. The rain began to fall harder, tapping on the window like the pulse of something unsaid.

Jack: “You speak like someone who still believes in universality, Jeeny. But history doesn’t. History is full of tribes, not individuals. When the world turned on the Jews — in Spain, in Russia, in Germany — where was this ‘universal humanity’ then? It vanished into smoke.”

Jeeny: “Because fear makes people forget their souls. But I refuse to believe it’s gone forever. Even in the darkest times, there were those who hid their Jewish neighbors, who risked everything to protect strangers. That’s humanity too, Jack. You can’t erase it with cynicism.”

Host: Jeeny’s voice trembled — not with anger, but with memory. The kind of memory that wasn’t hers, but felt inherited, like an echo of collective pain.

Jack: “You talk about those rare souls as though they prove something. But they’re the exception. The world runs on self-interest, not compassion. People ally with others because it benefits them — not because of love or faith.”

Jeeny: “And yet, those exceptions — they are what redeem the world, Jack. Without them, we’d have no reason to go on. Maybe the Jew’s fear of being alone is not weakness, but wisdom — the wisdom of knowing how fragile goodness is without companionship.”

Host: A silence fell, thick as the smoke in the room. Jack rubbed his temple, his eyes tracing the lines of condensation on the glass.

Jack: “So you’re saying we need each other not just to survive, but to stay human?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Because the moment we stop reaching for one another, we become what we fear most — isolated souls wandering through a crowded world.”

Jack: “But isn’t that the irony? In this crowded world, everyone’s alone. We live in cities of millions, yet can’t trust the person next to us. Maybe Kahane wasn’t just talking about Jews — maybe he was talking about the human condition itself.”

Jeeny: “That’s true. Fear of isolation is universal. But it’s also the seed of hope. Because that fear drives us to build, to love, to find meaning. If we didn’t fear being alone, would we even create art, or nations, or God?”

Host: The café lights flickered, and the rain softened into a drizzle. Outside, a stray dog pressed itself beneath an awning, its eyes watching the world with a kind of ancient sadness.

Jack: “You sound like you’re saying fear is sacred.”

Jeeny: “In a way, yes. Fear reminds us that we’re fragile, that we need one another. Even faith is born of fear — the fear that we might be the only voice in the universe.”

Jack: “And yet, if fear drives connection, isn’t that connection tainted? Shouldn’t love, or loyalty, come from strength, not weakness?”

Jeeny: “Maybe strength is the courage to admit weakness, Jack. The Jew who seeks allies isn’t cowardly — he’s realistic. He remembers that even survival is a moral act. After centuries of exile, how could one not yearn for the warmth of another hand?”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened. He looked out the window, his reflection merging with the streetlights outside — a man divided between the world he saw and the world he wished existed.

Jack: “So you think community saves us?”

Jeeny: “No. I think it redeems us. Salvation is something divine; redemption is something we build together, in spite of our fear.”

Host: The steam from their cups rose like ghosts between them. The air grew still, as though the world was listening.

Jack: “You know… maybe Kahane’s words weren’t just about fear. Maybe they were a mirror — showing how deeply the human soul dreads abandonment. Every empire falls, every ideology fades, but that dread — that need not to be alone — it’s eternal.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s where God hides — in the space between one soul reaching out to another. Not in temples or books, but in the simple act of refusing to leave someone behind.”

Host: A faint smile crossed Jack’s lips — the first of the night. Outside, the clouds began to break, and the moonlight touched the river, turning it into a ribbon of silver.

Jack: “So, Jeeny, perhaps the fear of being alone is not a curse, but a compass. It points us toward one another.”

Jeeny: “Yes, Jack. Toward one another — and maybe, through that, toward something greater than ourselves.”

Host: The café grew quiet. The last of the rain fell like a whisper against the pavement. Jack and Jeeny sat without words, their silhouettes framed against the window, the light shifting gently over their faces.

In that moment, the loneliness of the world seemed to soften — not disappear, but become bearable, like a song hummed softly in the dark. And somewhere beyond the fog, the city breathed, no longer alone.