Truth is, we’re all framed

For the most part, I find death threats absurd. Even humorous. I’ve been photoshopped into gas chambers; “invited” to meet in dark alleys in Cape Town; and been “scrambled” more than most eggs. Disturbing as those are, it’s hard to take seriously anyone who invests so much creativity into their cruelty.

Until the murder of Charlie Kirk. And until I received a threat in the form of a drawing: a man flinching as a bullet pierces his neck, blood spraying, tongue already an unhealthy shade of blue. The message to me was clear: shut up or risk what follows. I struggled to find the lighter side. But it did get me thinking about images and how we perceive them.

There’s a famous drawing called “My Wife and My Mother-in-Law”. Some people look at it and instantly see a young woman gazing away; others see an old woman in profile. Same lines, same ink, same page, different realities. Psychologists call it an ambiguous figure. For me, it’s a normal conversation on a Monday.

We like to believe that we see with our eyes. In truth, we see with our frames. Prime an audience with photos of glamour and youth, and they’ll find the young woman. Prime them with images of ageing, and they’ll find the old one. The duck-rabbit sketch plays the same trick; so does the Invisible Gorilla experiment, where half the room misses a man in a gorilla suit because they’re counting passes. Our attention is powerful. It’s also blinkered.

That’s where we are with Israel, antisemitism, and even the murder of Charlie Kirk. Different frames, different pictures, and then we shout at each other as if the other person is lying when in fact they’re looking at the same lines through a different lens.

As a Jew, my frame is grandparents who whispered that the world hates us and that we should keep a low profile. It’s the knowledge that Jewish life, even at its most ordinary, sits close to the memory of erasure. That’s what I bring to everything I see. So when I look at Israel, I see a very human country trying not to be erased. Someone else may bring a frame shaped by power narratives and neat “oppressor/oppressed” binaries. We can trade footnotes all day. Unless we name our frames, we’re arguing past each other.

The Charlie Kirk case is a brutal example. My first response was horror, a human being murdered and a voice removed from the debate. Others, primed by their frame, rushed to, “Yes, but he said …” It’s the ambiguous drawing all over again. They weren’t seeing a man’s death; they were seeing a justification their lens had already prepared.

People often ask why I keep speaking out as a Jewish voice when silence would be more comfortable not only for me, but for my family, and, I suspect, for the Community Security Organisation. One answer: Jewish history taught me that silence isn’t neutral; it’s a choice with consequences. Another: I have a pen, a microphone, and thick skin. All of which are a responsibility.

What do I risk? Commercial opportunities, invitations, and a simple life. I’ve been called names I wouldn’t repeat to my worst enemy. I’ve been told to “tone it down” by people who use the word “nuance” as code for “please be quiet”. The cost of speaking is admittedly high; but the cost of not speaking is higher.

To those who say they “can’t see” the antisemitism, I’d suggest this: perhaps you’re counting different passes. If your feed primes you every morning with the same villains and the same heroes, the “old woman” will never appear. Only the “young woman” will, and you’ll swear she’s the only thing on the page. Change the feed, and sometimes the other face flickers into view.

I’ll also say this to my own community: we’re not perfect. Not as a state, not as a people, not as commentators – and certainly not on Twitter. We should handle fair criticism because we’re grown-ups. What we can’t accept is the lazy slander that reduces our story to a single ugly caricature.

If you want to see the picture better, whichever side you’re on, try three small habits. First, switch frames on purpose: read the best argument from the other side, not the worst. Second, mind the verbs: “massacred”; “executed”; “alleged”; and “claimed”. Language is a highlighter for a frame. Third, don’t reward cruelty. If your team delights in dehumanising, step back. It’s not a sport.

The ugly threat I received following the murder of Charlie Kirk hardened my resolve to continue to speak out. Not just for me, but for our community, for my children, and now my grandchildren. All deserve a country, a world, and an internet where we argue hard on ideas and soft on people; where we defeat bad arguments without deleting the people who make them.

As Rosh Hashanah approaches, we do a cheshbon hanefesh, an accounting of the soul. Here’s a small suggestion for the year: before we hit “post”, or reach for righteous rage, name the frame, check the verbs, and remember that every picture contains a context and a human being.

Shanah tovah. May the year ahead bring real and meaningful debate, honest disagreement, and the courage to see more than one figure on the same page.