Canceled for Conscience- Voices Against Silence

I’ve been canceled.

Not for some reckless act of hate or cruelty, but for doing what I have always done, speaking up, this time for the Jewish community. For certain voices, that was all it took. I spoke out against antisemitism where others were willing to look away.  I condemned Hamas.

Hamas is not a government or a political party with reasonable goals, it is a terrorist organization. On October 7th, the world watched in horror, for a day. Some easily condemn other forms of terror, but when it comes to Hamas, too many hesitated. I was told that I should understand “both sides.” I was told I wasn’t showing empathy. What empathy is there to give Hamas, terrorists who would rather see Jews dead than see the State of Israel exist? I defended Israel in the face of relentless one-sided attacks, and in return, I was isolated, and labeled as part of the problem. That’s the elephant in the room that no one wants to acknowledge.

The attacks on October 7th weren’t just an event 6000 miles away, they were a painful reminder of the danger Jews face everywhere.  When I voiced that truth, I was told that it was inappropriate to bring it up. Non-Jews told me that shiva should be over by now, two weeks after the massacre, as if the mourning period for Jews ended the day we were no longer in the headlines. Families are just now sitting shiva for their loved ones, and I pray not another one of the 101 families have to do the same. The pain is fresh, and it’s raw. Our grief doesn’t have a time limit, and our fear isn’t confined to distant geopolitical borders. The world tells us these acts of antisemitic violence are separate from Israel’s struggles, but we know they are deeply connected. Antisemitism is not international politics.

These were my groups. These were my friends. These were the same people who had once canvassed for me, who stood by me as I fought for justice for others. They believed in my vision and helped me get elected. I had always believed in the importance of protecting the vulnerable, but now, when it came to my own people, I was made to feel like our pain was invalid. One message summed it up perfectly, by a former New Jersey Assembly candidate no less. She said “As a leader of a diverse town, we cannot minimize the loss of one life over another.” This was her way of telling me that my voice, the Jewish voice, was somehow less important, less valid in this moment. While Hamas terrorists murdered innocent civillians, they yelled “die Jew.” It was worst moment in Jewish history since the Holocaust. When I raised my voice to defend the Jewish people and Israel, I was kicked out. Literally.

This is our life experience. When Israel is forced to defend herself, Jews worldwide become targets. I’ve seen this too many times, from the horror of the Jersey City shootings to the Monsey stabbing. My colleague, who we did not always get along, was attacked in Miami at gunpoint for being Jewish in 2021. I wanted to condemn her assault in my newsletter, and stand with the Jewish community against antisemitism. I was told we had to condemn all hate. All lives matter, but not Jewish lives. It became the moment that I realized I had to step away from the newsletter that I built, and I had put my blood, sweat, and many tears into.

I am not the first to experience this, nor will I be the last. Far too many Jewish voices, particularly those of us navigating these so-called progressive spaces, have faced the same dilemma. For standing up to antisemitism, for refusing to let our identity be erased, we are “canceled.” We are branded with terms that strip us of nuance, humanity, and, worst of all, the right to participate in conversations about justice.

The problem with cancel culture is not just who it cancels, it’s what it silences.

Cancel culture, once thought of as a way to hold power accountable, has now become something more dangerous. It no longer just targets individuals for actual harmful actions. It now polices thoughts, identities, and complexities that don’t fit neatly into a particular narrative. For Jews, this is particularly dangerous.

It’s a false choice, and it’s one that too many of us know too well.

The truth is that Jews have been fighting for justice for decades. We’ve marched for civil rights, refugee aid, advocated for the lives and rights of every other community. When it comes to our own lives, when antisemitism rears its ugly head or Israel is demonized, we are told to be quiet, or worse, apologize for our own existence. We are told to keep our heads down, to blend in, and avoid making waves.  We are forced into the choice to either stay silent in order to keep a seat at the table, or speak out and risk being cast out entirely. Everyone deserves a seat at the table, including Jews.

This isn’t accountability. It’s erasure.

Criticizing policies of the Israeli government is not inherently antisemitic. The line is crossed when criticism of Israel becomes an excuse to deny Jewish people their right to self-determination or hold Israel to a different standard than any other country. The line is crossed when antisemitism is tolerated or excused.

So where do we stand? What is the Jewish response to cancel culture, to antisemitism, to this growing sense of erasure?

We must reject the false choice between our Jewish identity and our commitment to justice. We don’t have to choose. Our history as Jews, our commitment to tikkun olam demands that we speak out, both for ourselves and for others. We can fight for justice without erasing who we are. We can challenge injustice without denying our own history.

We must demand that our so called friends do better. If we are truly committed to justice for all, then they must be willing to admit the antisemitism, on its own, even when it’s uncomfortable. They must accept Jewish voices at the table, not just as token participants but as partners in the fight for a better world.

We must stand firm in our values. Cancel culture thrives on fear. Fear of rejection, fear of isolation, and fear of being silenced. As Jews we know that silence is not an option. We have survived because we refused to be silenced. We refused to disappear. Now more than ever, we must hold on to that resilience. We must speak out, even when it’s difficult, even when it feels like the world doesn’t want to hear us.

Because the world needs to hear us.

I may have been canceled, but I refuse to be silenced. And neither should you. To my fellow Jews, and to all those who stand for justice. Raise your voice. When we are silenced, everyone loses. When we speak up, we can change the world. “Ani v’ata neshane et haolam”