Throughout the present tzarah, we have all struggled to respond productively. It is easy to become confused in the haze of geopolitics and punditry. And it is easy to become incensed at the attempts by academics to define the genocide of Jews as a matter of context.

But in truth, these phenomena are merely distractions. The baser elements are acting as they always have and always will, until the arrival of Mashiach. The earnest oved Hashem wants to penetrate beneath the surface to apprehend the spiritual nature of the enemy and how we should respond.

The animalistic depravity of Hamas arguably exceeds even the barbarism of the Nazis. While the scope of Nazi genocide is unsurpassed, they at least attempted to maintain a facade of culture, drowning out their victims’ cries with the music of Mozart and Wagner, while they distanced themselves from the dirty work of their delegates.

Not so the Nukhba terrorists, who reveled in their most monstrous acts and brazenly disseminated them to the world via livestream.

This unique feature of the present foe is discernible in the Torah itself. As Rabbeinu Bechaye explains, there are two expressions for Yisrael’s enemies, sonei and oyev. The former describes Eisav, and the latter describes Yishmael. He elaborates that oyev, from the root avoy, meaning woe, connotes the greater cruelty characterized by Yishmael.

This correlation — sonei corresponding to Eisav and oyev to Yishmael — is an exciting find that we ourselves can trace in references throughout Torah (“Eisav sonei l'Yaakov,” “v’es Eisav saneisi”).

I would propose that we see examples of this when Rivkah is blessed, as she leaves the house of her father, “Your offspring will inherit the gate of its sonei,” because her child, Yaakov, will be at war with Eisav. Avraham, on the other hand, is told after the Akeidah, “Your offspring will inherit the gate of its oyev,” because his son Yitzchak will be at war with Yishmael.

So what seems to emerge is that while Eisav, as characterized by the Nazis (see Megillah6a-b), commits atrocities on a greater scale, there is a venomous character and toxicity unique to Yishmael. This becomes even more apparent when we delve deeper into our sacred sources.

INan enigmatic passage, the Gra explains that Eisav and Yishmael represent two prototypes of our enemies’ aggression. Eisav, from the word asiyah, meaning “making” or “doing,” represents a negative force of action. Yishmael, from the word shemi’ah, meaning “hearing,” represents a negative force of listening. The Gra concludes that we possess opposite, positive forms of those two characteristics embodied in “naaseh v’nishma.”

On the face of it, this teaching is shrouded in mystery, but based on the insight that we have gleaned, its meaning begins to take shape. Eisav is the more capable when it comes to the execution, the achievement of his demonic goals. Yishmael, on the other hand, lives in an interior, emotional realm symbolized by listening and internalizing negativity. For centuries, his descendants have fomented deep-seated envy and nursed toxic resentment.

All of this comes to the fore in the heinous barbarism we see today. To put it another way, Eisav is classically identified with his father Yitzchak. He took Yitzchak’s middah of discipline and coopted it to achieve his evil designs. Think about the Nazis’ characteristic discipline and efficiency, always fine-tuning their mechanisms so more trains could arrive in Auschwitz and bodies could be incinerated at an even higher rate.

Yishmael, on the other hand, abuses Avraham’s traits of chesed and ahavah. Hospitality is actually a feature of the Bedouin tradition, but oftentimes with an underlying nefarious intent to prey on guests. This was showcased to the world in a recent hostage swap, when Hamas led the captive by the hand and showered her with food provisions before handing her to the Red Cross in a cruel propaganda ruse. In a similar vein, Chazal associates Yishmael with gilui arayos, the perversion of the drive for deep personal connection.

In summation, while Eisav represents a cold, calculated culture, Yishmael represents an intense, passionate culture, no less evil. This perspective is something the West utterly fails to understand.

Here we have developed the most sophisticated weapons systems, diplomatic corps, think tanks, and the like, and yet the Yishmael menace persists. All of these endeavors of asiyah ably defeated Nazism/Eisav, but leave us ill equipped to grapple with a new enemy that thrives not in external might but in the venom of its diabolical ideology.

In this age of post-modernism, when the West has lost its tether to its sense of identity and cultural pride, it has never been more feeble, feckless, and wholly inadequate to face down the passion of Yishmael.

Like a treasure hidden in plain sight, the winning stratagem lies in the above-cited passage of the Gra. Recall his comment that we possess two positive counterforces to Eisav and Yishmael — naaseh v’nishma.

First is naaseh, the realm of spiritual action, and we have been most adept at setting up an infrastructure of Torah, chinuch, and chesed. This endeavor in the realm of action post-Holocaust served as our response to Eisav, the most powerful revenge against Hitler and his destruction.

Now, faced with a new enemy, we hear whispers of the Divine, communicating a new mandate. In the realm of nishma, we must develop the art of internalizing our mitzvah observance. We must make our mitzvos more experiential, infusing them with more heart and spiritual poignancy.

In this hyper-stressed 21st century, the concept of mindfulness has become a buzzword, the elusive gift everyone is longing for. Mindfulness in its highest spiritual expression has crept into frum parlance as well. People are now speaking of self-fulfillment in their davening, marriage, etc.

The meaning for which many thirst is personal expression and depth in mitzvos. They want to find their own voice in tefillah and experience how the hallowed nusach of old speaks to them in their station in life.

In kibbud av v’eim, earnest ovdei Hashem want to learn to respect their parents as people rather than simply performing the prescribed acts of care. They want to understand where their parents are coming from, and they no longer want to be stymied by the baggage of their own childhood.

In marriage, people want more than conflict resolution and superficial shalom bayis. Even more than affection, they want to learn how to appreciate their spouse and understand how this other being in their life makes such different assumptions and sees life through such a different lens. They want to turn potential discord into pivot points for richer connection.

This spiritual quest must be based on substance, and the Torah world has responded with the rise of the elegant world of machshavah. This world that uncovers entirely new vistas behind all the mitzvos and their relevance to life has gained more traction than ever before.

A friend of mine made this point clear when he described how he was quite literally thrown out of the beis medrash of his old-school yeshivah for learning a sefer that did not fit the mold of their curriculum — Gemara and classic mussar only. Now, however, the rosh yeshivah of that very institution gives a shiur in the previously contraband text.

Not misled by the stereotypical view that this spiritualism is forcing rash changes in derech hachayim, many bnei Torah, who maintain the overall traditional approach, have rediscovered a primal moving force. In fact, this force of penimiyus is not characterized by overt, in-your-face fervor but by the quiet composure of an inner world at work.

Of course, not every form of newfangled spirituality is savory or worthy of being embraced. Ultimately, the thirst of the neshamah can only be satiated with authentic Torah expressed by drawing from the wellsprings of the machshavah masters. Sometimes we see others involved in behaviors that we feel are unhealthy. It is easy to be judgmental and dismissive. But it is our task to recognize that deep down, what the neshamah craves needs to be addressed with something other than the garden-variety observance many of us absorbed along the way.

A scene at a rabbinical convention underscored this for me. One rav complained about the growing fad of what he termed “hippy-style Judaism.” He cited a disturbing trend of some shuls inserting dancing, punctuated with shots of alcohol, into their Kabbalas Shabbos. Most of those present reacted with the anticipated shaking of the head and moans of “what a shanda.”

But one composed voice ventured, “Maybe the onus is on us. Perhaps we are liable for not having been able to present to them a form of davening that is fulfilling, or the tools to personalize their avodah.”

These calm words, spoken with both authority and love and a willingness to find new pathways for ruchniyusdig expression, elevated the entire conversation.

The needs of Klal Yisrael are forever evolving. The external threats we face today correspond with our internal soul-searching. Beneath the heinous deeds of Yishmael, we can hear whispers of the Divine calling us to pivot from naaseh to nishma, from a focus on simple observance to a deeper expression of our inner world.

The gentle voice of penimiyus will dispel all the menacing, corrupt passions of Yishmael. Against a strong inner world, the machinations of Yishmael cannot stand. They may inflict pain, but they cannot succeed in their hateful design.

 Rabbi Yonah Sklare is a rosh kollel in Baltimore whose shiurim and creativity have attracted a worldwide following. He lectures at Congregation Shomrei Emunah and Women’s Institute of Torah Seminary, and online for Torah Anytime, OU Torah, and Jewish Podcasts. Rabbi Sklare received semichah and his PhD in Talmudic law from Ner Yisroel Rabbinical College.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1050)