I Don’t Fear Rockets — I Fear Losing Judaism

A Diaspora Jew explains why his voice matters — and why Israel and the Diaspora can’t afford to turn away from each other.

To my Israeli brothers and sisters: I know your reality can turn deadly before lunch. Your fear isn’t theoretical — it’s geographic. It wakes you before dawn and follows you into sleep. And I know that anything written from Michigan risks sounding too soft for the world you live in. Your seriousness is justified. Your exhaustion is earned. Your anger is understandable.

But silence feels like abandonment, so I’m writing anyway — and I’m writing as someone whose Jewish life is serious too.

My challenges are not rockets, but they are not trivial. My Jewish life is built on mitzvot: teaching Hebrew to adults reclaiming their heritage; mentoring autistic children at Friendship Circle; comforting the dying through Jewish Hospice, sometimes holding a hand as someone whispers Shema with their last breath; serving my community as an Environmental Commissioner; guiding visitors at the Detroit Zoo and reminding them that caring for creation is a Jewish responsibility; writing divrei Torah that try to keep ancient wisdom alive. These are not hobbies. They are commitments. They shape my days, my choices, my identity.

I don’t fear rockets, but I fear losing the Judaism I’ve spent my life trying to keep alive.

You fight to keep Judaism alive in a land where it is attacked for existing. We fight to keep Judaism alive in lands where it can fade without anyone noticing.

These are not competing fears. They are parallel ones — and they mean we need each other. Israel cannot thrive without the Diaspora’s voice, creativity, advocacy, and stubborn continuity. The Diaspora cannot survive without Israel’s courage, clarity, and unbreakable Jewish presence. We are incomplete without each other.

Rambam wrote that courage is acting despite fear. You live a courage no Jew outside Israel can fully imitate — the courage that leaves fingerprints on the soul. But Diaspora Jews live a quieter courage too: the courage to remain visibly Jewish in places where visibility carries risk. Our realities differ, but our vulnerability is shared.

And because our vulnerability is shared, our voices matter too. We are not guests in Judaism. We are heirs. We have earned our place in this conversation. If you disagree with my perspective, please voice your concern. We might not find a middle ground, but we shall continue to dialogue — because dialogue is the oldest Jewish instinct we have.

Israel and the Diaspora are two ends of the same shofar — one end carries the breath; the other carries the sound.

May our arguments sharpen us, may our covenant bind us, and may we never forget that we are one people carrying one flame.