Battling Antisemitism on Unexpected Fronts

In these unbearable times of antisemitism, as we wake up to news of Jewish students at University of California, Los Angeles being attacked, beaten with sticks, and pepper-sprayed, something is finally igniting the anger and the outrage inside of me. With the Israel parade approaching this Sunday, my emotions are swirling in ways I cannot ignore.

There is a growing sense of vulnerability within us. Recently, several men were seen emerging from manholes in two locations near Jewish schools in Brooklyn. While the NYPD is investigating and no conclusions have been reached, the incident has left us feeling unsettled. In the context of rising antisemitism and growing security concerns, unusual events like this heighten our anxiety and reinforce the feeling that something has shifted in our sense of safety and security here in NY. It raises the question, are we prepared?

The thing is, the war against antisemitism has taken unexpected turns. We are fighting it on multiple fronts. Some are simply puzzling.

Last Monday, it was just me and my teens in the car, on our way to pick up a friend before heading to a wedding in New Jersey. As we approached a crowded intersection, I saw him standing there alone, holding a Palestinian flag in protest. And what shocked me most was not the flag itself, but that he was Jewish.

In that moment, something inside me snapped.

I rolled down my window. I screamed. I cursed. I honked. I have never reacted that way to a stranger before. And immediately afterward, part of me questioned myself. Was that the right reaction? Was that who I wanted to be in front of my children?

But then another thought entered my mind just as quickly.

If I stayed silent, what lesson would that teach my kids? That we are supposed to quietly tolerate people publicly protesting against the existence of our own people? Against Jewish sovereignty? Against our right to defend ourselves and exist like every other nation on earth?

And beyond my children, what about everyone else sitting in traffic watching this unfold? When a Jew publicly manifests against other Jews, it delegitimizes us all. It allows others to say, “Look, even the Jews are against it. I did it not because I thought I would change his mind, but because silence creates the illusion of agreement.

This wasn’t only about him. It was about everyone watching. Inaction also is a course of action. We simply can not afford to stay quiet.

I think often about history when I teach Passover. The Jews in Egypt did not become slaves overnight. At first, they lived comfortably in the land of Goshen because of Joseph. There was prosperity. Stability. Security. But slowly, generation after generation, rights eroded. Freedoms disappeared little by little until an entire people found themselves enslaved.

That process matters.

Oppression rarely arrives all at once. It grows quietly when people convince themselves to stay silent, to stay comfortable, to avoid confrontation.

This summer, I attended an Institute for the Study of Global Antisemitism and Policy conference in Oxford and met allies who continue to stand publicly with the Jewish people despite enormous backlash and hostility. They absorb tremendous criticism simply for standing on the right side of history. Most people choose not to get involved.

But moments like these remind me that we have no choice but to stand up. Because if we don’t, no one else will do it for us.

That is the lesson of our history. That is the lesson I want my children to understand. Inaction is also a choice. And in moments like these, preserving our voice, our dignity, and our right to exist openly as Jews matters more than ever.

That is why this Sunday I will march proudly at the Israel Parade to remind my friends and family in Israel (and the Jewish people as a whole) that I have their back.