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Few figures in the Torah are as perplexing as Korach. Unlike Pharaoh, Balak or Amalek, Korach was not an external enemy seeking to destroy the Jewish people. He was one of their own. A Levite of distinguished lineage, he belonged to one of the most prominent families in Israel. He lived in the generation that witnessed the Exodus from Egypt, stood at Mount Sinai and experienced Divine revelation firsthand. Yet despite all this, Korach launched one of the most destructive rebellions in Jewish history. On the surface, his challenge seemed noble enough: “For all the congregation are holy, and the Lord is among them. Why do you exalt yourselves over the assembly of the Lord?" (Numbers 16:3). At first glance, Korach sounds almost democratic. He speaks in the language of equality and inclusion. Why should Moses and Aaron hold positions of authority? Why shouldn’t leadership be shared more broadly?

Over the past week, one of the most troubling stories in the international film community has unfolded largely outside public view. Israeli filmmaker Nadav Lapid — an acclaimed and internationally recognized director in his generation-- withdrew from the FIDMarseille film festival following a campaign of pressure surrounding his participation. Several filmmakers reportedly withdrew their own work in protest of his inclusion, prompting a broader debate about artistic freedom, cultural boycotts, and whether artists should be judged according to their work or according to their nationality... Before anyone rushes to debate Nadav Lapid's politics, or even the merits of his films, a more fundamental question deserves our attention.