DENOUNCING THE JEWS : What Syria's Assad is up to.

When John Paul II visited Syria last month, an eager President Bashar al-Assad  greeted him with a call for Christians to join forces with Muslims against Jews. International response was swift, and focused on questions about the pope's response (or lack thereof) and its import for Jewish-Christian relations.

As important as such discussion is, those who focus too narrowly on issues between Jews and Christians are missing something of the significance of Assad's "invitation." The Syrian leader has his own political context, and his own reasons for speaking as he did. To put it bluntly: his speech was heard not only by the pope, and those engaged in Jewish-Christian dialogue. It echoed loudly in Syria, Jordan, and Egypt. By speaking as he did, the Syrian president put Jordan's King Abdullah and Egypt's Prime Minister Hosni Mubarak between the proverbial rock of maintaining strong ties with the United States and the hard place of Arab public opinion. Political and religious leaders in the United States and elsewhere would do well to keep this in mind as they respond to Assad's anti-Semitism.

History is useful in considering his remarks. His father, Hafiz al-Assad, was a consummate practitioner of realpolitik. He always understood the precarious nature of his own power. A member of the tiny and (from the standpoint of most Muslims) heterodox Alawi sect, Hafiz had good reason to focus on Arab, rather than Muslim, solidarity. As a young man, Hafiz cast his lot with the Baathist movement, thus joining with those who proclaimed themselves ready to view all Arabs as equals. From this standpoint, Christians, Muslims, Druzes, and even Jews could be stakeholders in the modern Arab state. While Jews eventually fell out of the mix, this was less a matter of religious identity than of nationalist politics; from the Baathist standpoint, Jews were problematic because of their suspected ties to Israel. In Hafiz al-Assad's Syria, Christians in particular fared well. Intolerance was reserved for those (such as Jews) viewed as a threat to security, or those who challenged the legitimacy of a state defined in terms of Arab unity (for example, the Muslim Brotherhood.)

Hafiz al-Assad remained loyal to the Baathist ideology until his death. In this, he resisted the movement toward Islamic revivalism that began to take root following Israel's victory in the 1967 war. One by one, the great leaders of Baathism died off. When they did, a new generation, attuned to Islamic solidarity, stood ready to fill the void. And thus Bashar al-Assad assumed the father's post, but with the distinctive outlook of his own generation. Like his peers, the younger Assad looks to Islam as the solution to modernity's ills. He is less interested in pan-Arabism, more keen on the solidarity of Muslims. For him, political reality, including the Arab-Israeli conflict, is read in terms of religion rather than of nationalist politics.

Why then the appeal to Christians? First, consider the internal politics of Syria. Christians have prospered there. They are a force with which the new leader must reckon, even as he speaks of Muslim solidarity.

Second, consider Islamic tradition, which has strong views on the relations among Jews, Christians, and Muslims. In particular, the Syrian president's comments concerning Jewish resistance to divine principles, to Jews betraying and torturing Jesus, and to Jews attempting to betray Muhammad, refer to the Qur'an and the biography of Muhammad. At the same time, the appeal to Christians reflects a more positive view of the role of "the people of the Messiah" in salvation history. That, too, is related to the biography of the Prophet, which relates that Christians early on gave protection to Muslims seeking asylum from their enemies. A leader like Assad, knowing these basic sources of Islamic tradition, is perfectly capable of making analogies to his own political context. However partial such interpretations may be (and, given that the Qur'an promises salvation to all who do good--Jews, Christians, and Muslims), the repetition of Assad's rhetoric by Syrian religious and political leaders during the pope's visit suggests a deliberate appropriation of Islamic sources.

Third, consider the broader field of Arab politics. Since the founding of Israel in 1948, Arabs have considered the plight of the Palestinians a major challenge to Western leadership in the international community. For Arabs, the Palestinians are victims par excellence, having suffered the loss of property, restrictions on liberty, and loss of life. From this point of view, the most poignant questions of international relations have to do with why the West remains indifferent to such suffering.

In response, some Arabs have become cynical. They argue that Israel is a kind of Western "plant," and that the real aim of the West is to fulfill the goal of the medieval Crusaders. Talk of democracy and human rights is thus merely a cover for imperial goals, including the elimination of Islam as a force in human affairs.

The majority of Arabs believe, however, that Western indifference to Palestinian suffering is a matter of ignorance. For these, the great task is to educate the West; they assume that the cause is clearly just, and that those who speak the language of democracy and human rights cannot fail to act, once the facts are known. From this point of view, it must be said that the current round of violence in the West Bank and Gaza poses an enormous challenge. That the West could stand idly by, even as CNN makes Palestinian suffering visible as never before, is incredible to many Arabs.

And thus, when Assad spoke, his audience was also the people and leaders of Jordan and Egypt. He knows how far King Abdullah and Prime Minister Mubarak have gone in seeking closer ties with the United States. He knows that they have done so in the name of economic development, and that the quid pro quo has been peaceable relations with Israel. He knows, further, that his own claim to leadership in the region involves competition with Abdullah and Mubarak for moral leadership, especially in terms of the contest with Israel.

In March at the Arab summit, Assad characterized Zionism as more racist than Nazism. Such rhetoric is one part of an attempt to compel others to follow. Given the attention paid to his more recent comments, Assad has now increased the pressure. In particular, Abdullah and Mubarak are placed in a precarious position. The grotesque nature of the Syrian leader's "invitation" will, no doubt, give rise to international pressure for other Arab and Muslim leaders to disassociate themselves from Assad. Such pressure will, in turn, give rise to domestic calls for these leaders to free themselves from Western influence, and to pledge solidarity with Syria and the Palestinians. In this context, the preferred approach of Abdullah and Mubarak will be to keep silent, their eyes fixed on the prize of economic development. Should the pressure to denounce Assad grown strong enough, they will face an uninviting choice. And given past history, one may predict that domestic politics will outweigh the benefits of U.S. support. In view of these facts, it would be prudent for leaders in Washington, in Israel, and elsewhere to proceed with care, since even a temporary turn inward by Jordan and Egypt will have serious international consequences.

John Kelsay is the Richard L. Rubenstein Professor of Religion at Florida State University.