And Then, I Lie Awake

Quiet the Fear. Hear the Faith.

There are moments when I lie awake at night, not thinking about myself, but about my children, my family, my community, and the future of the Jewish people. Well that is not a new story and not unlike any mother.

I wonder what the next generation will inherit. Will they walk proudly as Jews? Will they feel safe to wear a Magen David around their neck, to speak Hebrew in public, to celebrate Shabbat without hesitation, to stand with Israel without fear, to pray to HaShem with faith and trust.

The questions I toss and turn over are:

How strong is my Jewish identity?

How committed am I to expressing openly and freely my Jewish existence?

How often am I willing to stand up for myself?

How much longer will this open hatred and antisemitism go on and how can I help to end it?

These questions visit the hearts of so many Jewish mothers, fathers, grandparents, teachers, rabbis, and leaders today. These questions sit in the hearts and minds of our children.

These concerns take place in schools and on college campus and in the work place. These never ending challenges, threats and fears exist on all social media: tiktok, instagram, facebook and they go viral on our children’s phones and computers. and then I lie awake at night and…

The Fear whispers loudly and I toss and turn – And my Faith speaks softly and I am comforted once again, through the night.

The challenge is learning to quiet the fear so I can hear the faith.

As a Jewish woman, a wife, a mother, and a community leader, I wrestle with this every day. I want to speak with love. I believe every human being is created in the image of God. I want my words to heal whenever possible, to build bridges where bridges can stand.

Yet I also know there are moments when silence is not compassion. Silence can become permission.

The Torah never teaches us to hate. It teaches us to remember. It teaches us to protect life. It teaches us to pursue justice. It teaches us that every generation has the responsibility to stand for truth.

Our challenge is not to become louder than hatred.

Our challenge is to become brighter than darkness.

There is a difference.

Hatred feeds on noise. Holiness grows in light.

When I feel afraid, I remind myself that my ancestors faced Pharaoh, Haman, inquisitions, expulsions, pogroms, the Holocaust… but no need for that long ago reminder, I must say this to myself.

And then… October 7th, my eyes still burn from the very real images and tears and then on October 8th and the world’s silence, the conscious disregard and the lack of humanity I feel until today.

We carried Torah scrolls through deserts and across oceans. We rebuilt homes, schools, synagogues, kibbutzim and rebuilt families from the ashes. We continued lighting Shabbat candles when darkness surrounded them.

The Jewish people have never survived because we were the loudest voice in the room.

We survived because we carried the deepest light.

That light is Torah.

That light is kindness.

That light is courage.

That light is an unwavering commitment to life.

Being an advocate for the Jewish people does not require me to become angry. It requires me to become rooted.

Rooted in truth.

Rooted in history.

Rooted in faith.

Rooted in love for my people.

Love is not weakness.

Love is what gives strength its purpose.

When we speak against antisemitism, we are not speaking against people because of who they are. We are speaking against hatred because of what it does. Hatred steals dignity. It poisons communities. It distorts truth. It threatens innocent lives.

Hatred exists and it only thrives in darkness.

That is why we must speak.

Not with vengeance.

But with conviction.

Not with cruelty.

But with clarity.

Not because we hate.

But because we love.

We love our children too much to remain silent.

We love our community too much to hide.

We love humanity too much to allow hatred to become ordinary.

There are voices that seek attention through outrage, division, and intimidation. We do not need to imitate them. We do not need to descend into the same darkness we oppose.

The Jewish response has always been different.

We build.

We teach.

We gather around tables.

We sing.

We learn.

We plant gardens.

We celebrate Shabbat.

We welcome strangers.

We comfort mourners.

We raise children.

We choose life.

Again and again, we choose life.

Those who spread hatred may wave signs, shout slogans, and seek stages from which to amplify division. Their voices may echo for a season.

But they do not define eternity.

Our eternal flame has never depended on the loudest microphone.

It has always depended on the quiet candle.

One small flame. Then another. And another.

Until darkness has nowhere left to hide.

Perhaps that is our calling today.

Not simply to protest darkness.

But to become impossible to extinguish.

To raise children who know who they are.

To strengthen Jewish identity instead of allowing fear to weaken it.

To study Torah more deeply.

To celebrate Jewish life more joyfully.

To stand beside Israel with wisdom and courage.

To speak truth with dignity.

To refuse to surrender either our compassion or our confidence.

I want my children to remember that when fear came knocking, faith answered the door.

I want them to know that being Jewish is not merely something we inherited—it is something we choose every day with gratitude.

And I pray that my words, my actions, and my life will teach them that courage is not the absence of fear.

Courage is choosing faith while fear is still whispering. Courage is falling asleep comforted by our Faith.

The eternal flame of Torah has outlived every empire that sought to extinguish it.

It burns today because generation after generation refused to let fear become their identity.

May we be that generation once again.

May we quiet the fear.

May we hear the faith.

May we stand with dignity.

May we speak with courage.

May we lead with love.

And may the light we carry become so bright that our children inherit not our anxiety, but our faith; not our worry, but our wisdom; not our fear, but our unshakable pride in being part of the eternal Jewish story.