Do Not Look Away

We could pretend that the streets of Europe are not echoing with chants for a second, a third, a thousand more October 7ths.

We could ignore that daylight is no longer safe for those who wear a Star of David, speak Hebrew, or stand for Israel. That being Jewish now means being a target: for spit, for fists, for blades, for bullets, for silence.

We could ignore the crowds at festivals screaming “Death to the IDF,” their fists raised not in protest, but in promise.

We could ignore that mobs gathered to preach annihilation. We could tell ourselves that Jews imagining danger are overreacting, paranoid, and dramatic.

We could look away.
We could ignore it all.
And many do ignore it.

Politicians do.
Editors do.
Activists with loud mouths and hollow hearts do.

Even some of our friends do.
They don’t say it out loud, but they show it, in the silence, in the shrug, in the way they change the subject.

Their indifference lays bricks in the road toward a darker world.
Not just for Jews, but for anyone who dares to defend them.
For anyone who speaks.
For anyone who refuses to go quiet when mobs scream that Israel must be wiped off the map, by fire, by rape, by knives, by rockets.

It is easy to look away.

It is easy to scroll on.
To sip coffee and shake one’s head.
To post a filtered opinion dressed up as virtue, as if Israel alone is the villain of this world, as if history has been waiting for this tiny state to fall so that peace might finally breathe.

It’s easy to pretend the slaughter didn’t happen.
That women weren’t paraded, torn, and mocked.
That elders weren’t dragged into darkness.
That hostages still aren’t waiting, still alive, still forgotten.

But when you do that, when you deny it, you reveal yourself.
Not as neutral.
But as numb.

This is not about demanding your allegiance.
It’s not about telling you what to think or feel.
This is not about black and white.
This is about human and heartless.

Be human.

If you’ve never known what it means to be hated in silence, to be glared at in a subway for wearing a small silver Magen David, then don’t pretend you understand.
If you’ve never feared daylight, not for who you are, but for what they think you are, then don’t tell others how to feel.
If you’ve never seen strangers whisper when you enter a room, or heard your faith compared to fascism, then at least have the humility to listen.

I do not demand your pain.

I do not ask you to carry the scars of a people.
But I do ask you to open your eyes.
Open your eyes to see what was done to the Jewish people, not only then, in the ash and bone of history, but now.

In fragments.
In headlines.
In fire.

Israel is attacked from the north, from the south, from every political flank.
And while sirens wail there, hatred rises here.

In Paris.
In London.
In Berlin.
In New York.

Speak to a Jew.

Ask them how it feels to walk with keys between their fingers, just in case.
Ask them how it feels when friends go quiet after October 7th.
Ask them what it means to raise a child in a world where “Never Again” has become just another slogan.

And when they answer, listen.

Not with defensiveness.
Not with arguments.
With heart.

You don’t need to build a barricade with your body.
But at least stand guard with your words.

What strikes the Jews today will hit the rest of the world tomorrow.
History has always whispered this warning.
Now it screams. Do not look away.