The One Where I Almost Fought a Nazi
An encounter at a Hands Off rally triggered my rage; being mindful helped defuse it
I’ve never managed to adopt a consistent meditation practice. But, over the years, I have often engaged in brief mindfulness exercises to help me tune into the present moment: mindfully brushing my teeth, washing dishes, snuggling the pets, sipping coffee, or just observing my breath.
As a result of these practices, I’m usually able to observe my thoughts and emotions—to create some space between thought, feeling, and action, as explained in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT).
I’m also not particularly impulsive. I don’t go off half-cocked, reacting without pausing to think. I tend to be a much more deliberate and cautious person. So maybe my ability to be mindful is just built into my physiological and psychological makeup.
Recently, though, I had a moment of mindful physical awareness that caught me off guard. A moment when a different, more impulsive me might have done something stupid. And dangerous.
It occurred last weekend while I was participating in my town’s “Hands Off” rally. There must have been several hundred people in attendance—a pleasant surprise in my red-leaning district—and it was an entirely peaceful event. Rally-goers lined both sides of the street, waving signs and engaging in call and response chants—just good, old-fashioned, non-violent protest.
Clearly, this was a much-needed release for people. The participants were upbeat and friendly, the passers-by generally supportive. We got the occasional middle finger or scowl from a passing vehicle, but nothing worth getting upset about. I’d exchange exasperated looks with fellow rally-goers, mutually shaking our heads in sadness or disbelief at the drivers’ reactions.
And that’s when it happened.
A black pickup truck, I think a Ford F-250, approached, no fewer than four large, chassis-mounted American flags streaming aggressively alongside. It would have gleamed had the rain not doused the sun. My heart sank—I knew what message this vehicle was projecting: “Suck my patriotism, libtards! 🫵”
A few uniformed officers were there to maintain peace, their black-and-white sedans and orange traffic cones placed strategically to encourage passing drivers to maintain a safe speed.
I was a person or three deep in the crowd, roughly ten feet from the road, when the charcoal-hued truck rolled by. As he passed, the driver turned to face my direction and shouted angrily across the empty seat next to him, “Sieg Heil!” followed by something I couldn’t quite decipher about Nazis.
I’m not sure if he was declaring he was a Nazi or telling us that we were Nazis. I actually think it may have been the latter.
The distinction mattered little to this non-practicing, secular Jew. Nazism hits hard with me. I felt simultaneously confused and angry.
A kinetic jolt shot through my body as flame kindled in my gut. I found myself primed for action.
Less than a second had passed.
“Don’t respond,” spoke the wise voice in my head.
And I had no plan to. I was as cool as the proverbial cucumber.
Wasn’t I?
After all, I’m the Lead with Love guy. I don’t act out of anger. Rather than respond in kind to hatred, I try to understand the rage and fear underlying hostile behaviors.
Or so I thought.
Because in that moment, in the liminal space between seconds, I noticed my entire weight had shifted into my right foot… an involuntary, automatic leaning towards the truck and its noxious driver.
An automatic leaning towards anger and violence.
Was I about to leap into action? What was going on?
The pause between seconds collapsed; a new second began to inflate. My brain buzzed with uncertainty, caught between reaction and restraint. The F-250 was still nearby, but I could no longer see its driver. Just the inky, polished back-end as it moved slowly away, red brake lights glaring with hostility, American flags flapping in its wake, a shouted Nazi provocation ringing in my ears.
I don’t have an abundance of rage triggers, but on a list of those I possess, Nazis would be a close second (violence against women claims the top spot). I have spent much of my life waiting for Nazis to invade my safe and tranquil world. It was one of those things I always dreaded yet expected to happen.
In my youth, I would go to synagogue with my family on the Jewish High Holidays. I was never much for prayer, so I spent most of the service daydreaming, but also planning what I would do if armed anti-Semites burst into the sanctuary.
Occasionally, I sought hiding places, imagining myself flattened on the floor under a bench, trying to stay out of sight.
But more often, I spent the time trying to figure out how I would use that hidden vantage to sneak up on an unsuspecting gunman (in my imagination, they always had guns) and stop him. No Nazi was going to get the best of me or my family. It didn’t matter that I was fat, uncoordinated, unathletic, and a generally non-violent person who had never thrown a punch, let alone tackled an armed assailant.
When it came to Nazis, especially imaginary ones, I gave no quarter.
So, on a cold, rainy day in April, when a passing troglodyte spat an angry fascist heil in my direction, I almost sprang. The unconscious shifting of my weight tells me that, on some level, I was ready to go. The instinct was there. As was the spark.
In the moment, there was… Rage! Fire!! Indignation!!! Every one of my buttons had been forcefully smashed at once by what felt like a massive, crushing, ignorant, hate-spiked fist.
My mind spun wildly under the verbal assault. The next second elongated, a bungee cord extending to its limit. Was I going to chase after this schmuck?
My mind said no, but clearly, my body had other designs.
Again, I observed the weight in my right foot, the pressure of my boot against the damp earth, poised to propel me forward, the perceptible shift in my balance towards the offending driver and his vehicle, now perhaps two dozen feet beyond me.
What would such action achieve? A fight? A beating—my own, most likely? A mini riot? Nothing good, for sure.
My wiser voice spoke again: “You’re at a Hands Off rally. Don’t do something stupid. It’s a peaceful rally. This is non-violent resistance.”
Something about the phrase “hands off” struck me… hands off what? Hands off my Social Security. Hands off my health care. Hands off my wife’s uterus? Hands off my democracy and my country? That much was explicitly stated by the rallies’ organizers.
But also, and perhaps more importantly, hands off other people.
Don’t start any shit; don’t finish any shit. Follow the path of non-violence illuminated by Gandhi and MLK, Jr. The path of strength as practiced through understanding, compassion, and Leading with Love.
Time’s bungee snapped back, flinging me headfirst into the next second, where I was again captured in a moment that oozed by like molasses.
I made a decision. Despite the provocation, I would not be goaded. I remained hands off. I would not become the Steve Bartman of non-violent protest, known forevermore as “that idiot at the rally.”1
I blinked once, twice, and time came unstuck, resuming its customary pace. The pickup cruised to the limits of my line of sight. It would soon be just a sour memory.
I exhaled and rebalanced my weight, glancing at the other rally-goers nearby. All seemed just as shocked. Murmurs of “what the fuck was that?” surfaced from the surrounding crowd.
“Did he call us Nazis?” I asked a dude near me, who returned a puzzled shrug.
I shuffled my feet but remained more or less in place. Rage still burned in my stomach, a molten ball of iron. But I was in control.
I shared my feelings with my wife.
“I swear, Chris, I was about to go after that asshole.”
“Please, don’t,” she soothed.
I allowed my attention to shift back to the more positive interactions around me: the number of people who turned out on a cold, rainy afternoon to take a stand against the insane reign of terror underway in our country, the hilarious signs some people were holding, the joyous reaction our efforts received from most passers-by, the celebratory honking of horns, thumbs up, peace signs✌️, and shouts of support.
There were literally children cheering from the backseats of cars. Our presence was noticed and appreciated by many. Still, the rotten fish leaves the worst stink, as they say (Do they say that? They must say that. I bet somewhere Nordic).
In a short time, my rage dissipated, as feelings eventually do. While it seemed longer, it probably lasted just a matter of minutes. Emotions, as I’ve learned, are transient.
And when the rage faded, my joy at being part of this manifestation of democracy and rejection of tyranny returned.
The rest of the rally passed uneventfully. My participation energized me, but also revealed a truth about myself and the human condition: Violence is built into our nature. It’s part of the constellation of human reactions resting within each of us, waiting to be sparked by an angry shout and revealed in the shifting of one’s weight.
Humans are not a non-violent species. But we also don’t have to be a violent species. We can actively choose nonviolence. We can choose rationality in response to destructive emotion. We can actively choose love.
I don’t know if I would have been able to pursue a path of understanding and compassion with this antagonist, even given the opportunity. It may have been too much for me at that time, in that space.
But I do know I don’t have to respond to provocation in kind. I don’t need to allow hatred to breed more hatred. I can choose to disengage, rather than pursue in anger. I can defuse, rather than explode. I can pause for a mindful moment to observe my body’s reaction, and allow myself to return to balance, instead.
This Week’s Moment of Unconditional Love
Today’s moment of unconditional love comes from MJW. I’ve known MJW since I first stepped out of grad school into the social work profession. She was one of my first bosses in the social work world, and over the years has become a friend and mentor. She’s been a valuable sounding board for both personal and professional concerns. No matter how much I struggled, no matter how deep I had plunged into the pit of confusion and self-doubt, MJW always saw the best in me; she believed in and nurtured my potential. I wouldn’t be where I am professionally without her years of support and guidance.
Be an active participant in our community like MJW. Contribute to the Moment of Unconditional Love. You can email photos of your furry friends to jeffreyafeldman2015@outlook.com. I’ll work those photos into the weekly mix, and just maybe, share a little something special about you, too.
In 2003, the Chicago Cubs were poised to ascend to the Major League Baseball (MLB) World Series and earn a chance to end 95 years of north-side baseball heartbreak and championship drought. It was Game 6 of the National League Championship Series (NLCS) and the Cubs held a 3-2 lead in the best-of-seven NLCS. They were up by three runs in the 8th inning with just 5 outs left to secure. Facing Cubs ace pitcher Mark Prior, Marlins’ second baseman, Luis Castillo, sent a foul ball down the left-field line. Moises Alou, the Cubs’ left fielder, raced to catch the ball in foul territory, reaching into the stands to secure the important second out of the inning.
Unfortunately for Alou and the north-siders, Cubs fan Steve Bartman, seated at field level along the leftfield stands, had designs on nabbing a hot souvenir. His attempt to snare the ball prevented Alou from making the catch. This unintentional interference shifted the momentum of the game. Capitalizing on his second chance, Castillo worked a walk. Subsequent misplays by the Cubs defense made the situation even worse. The Marlins went on to score eight runs in the inning, ultimately defeating the Cubs by the score of 8-3. The Marlins would also win the decisive Game 7, extending the Cubs’ postseason failure yet another year.
Bartman was pilloried and ridiculed for years after. The Steve Bartman Incident remained a melancholy event in Cubs lore until the team’s 2016 World Series victory ended their 108-year MLB title drought.
Jeff, this was great. I love the message AND the writing. Beautifully articulated.
I applaud both your honesty about this and that you didn't actually throw a punch. Bravo, Jeff. You witnessed absolutely appalling behavior. The kind of hatred we are seeing continues to shock me. I just don't understand it- nor do I want to. Your reaction was a human one. Thanks for sharing. I'm proud that so far this movement has been a peaceful one.