Not Afraid. Emboldened.

Not Afraid. Emboldened.

A recent New York Times op-ed was titled, “Why Jews Are Afraid Right Now.” And I understand the fear. Since October 7, with antisemitism erupting on campuses, in the streets, and in violent attacks, fear has become familiar to many in our community.

But I want to say clearly: I am not afraid. I am emboldened.

Emboldened to speak the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. Emboldened to confront misinformation that distorts moral judgment. Emboldened to demand moral clarity—especially from Jewish leaders.

Just last Sunday in Boulder, Colorado, an Egyptian national attacked a peaceful pro-Israel rally using Molotov cocktails and a makeshift flamethrower. Twelve people were injured, including an 88-year-old Holocaust survivor. On May 21, two Israeli Embassy staffers, Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim, were murdered after leaving an AJC event at the Capital Jewish Museum. The details may vary, but the pattern is clear: Jews are being targeted—not for what we’ve done, but for who we are.

In moments like this, language matters. Leadership matters. And moral clarity matters most.

That’s why I feel compelled to speak—not in opposition, but in conversation—with some voices I deeply respect. There are Jewish leaders, out of genuine anguish, who have begun using terms like genocide and famine when discussing Israel’s actions in Gaza. However well-intentioned, this language risks distorting the very moral landscape we are trying to clarify.

When words like genocide and famine enter our communal discourse—through sermons, op-eds, or organizational statements—we have a duty to respond. Not with outrage, but with moral clarity. We must explain what these terms mean and what they do not.

Genocide refers to the intentional destruction of a people because of who they are. Israel’s military campaign—targeting Hamas and striving to rescue hostages—does not meet that definition. Similarly, famine is a technical term with specific legal and humanitarian thresholds.

Accusations that Israel is causing or weaponizing famine—widely circulated in 2024 and resurfacing again—ignore both the facts and the context. Even amid conflict, Israel has continued to facilitate humanitarian aid and coordinate with international organizations to ensure food delivery.

According to The Free Press, and data cited by Honest Reporting:

• During the early 2025 ceasefire, enough aid entered Gaza to sustain the population for months.
• Child malnutrition rates remain comparable to prewar levels.
• And the primary obstacle to aid distribution is Hamas itself—through theft, black-market resale, and exploitation of resources to sustain its war effort.

Let’s be clear: Hamas not only targets Israeli civilians—it embeds itself among Palestinian civilians. It operates from hospitals, schools, mosques, and homes. It hoards aid, prolongs suffering, and dares the world to blame Israel for the consequences. This is the moral battlefield Israel faces: an enemy that hides behind innocents, and an international chorus that too often ignores that fact.

Jewish tradition is not naïve about the horrors of war. But it teaches that self-defense is a moral obligation. The Torah forbids cutting down fruit trees during a siege—but permits siege warfare under ethical constraints. Maimonides insists that one side be left open for civilians to flee. And the Talmud declares: Ha-ba lehorgekha hashkem le-horgo—if someone comes to kill you, rise early to kill him first (Sanhedrin 72a).

Jewish law, ethics, and history all remind us: moral life is rarely black and white. We are asked to hold competing values—justice and compassion, mercy and self-protection—and to live within that tension. Israel is not above reproach. But it is operating in an agonizingly complex reality, with a real enemy and a real moral calculus. It deserves the space to defend itself responsibly.

When respected Jewish leaders invoke genocide or famine—especially through the lens of Torah—they shape the conversation far beyond our community. These words quickly cross into the political arena, where they are taken up and weaponized. Just recently, Senator Peter Welch introduced a resolution urging the U.S. to pressure Israel to lift its blockade—citing the same moral framing now echoed by those advocating to cut off military aid entirely. When moral critique becomes fuel for political delegitimization, we must pause and ask: what are we truly advancing?

There are no easy answers in war. But there is one easy mistake: to flatten a moral landscape that demands complexity and nuance.

So no—I am not afraid. I am resolved.

Resolved to speak clearly, even when others are shouting. Resolved to wear my Judaism with pride. Resolved to teach our tradition in its full moral depth and seriousness—not to weaponize it against ourselves, but to live by it with integrity.

Let others reduce our story to headlines and hashtags.

We will remain a people of nuance. Of conscience. Of faith.

And we will return to the ancient wisdom of our tradition: Chachamim, hizharu b’divreichem—Sages, be careful with your words. Words shape worlds. And in this moment, they must be chosen wisely.