In this age of fear, how are your kids doing?
A recent skit from the Israeli show Eretz Nehederet (“A Wonderful Country”) has been circulating widely. In it, an Israeli man and an American Jewish woman meet at Ben Gurion Airport. Each believes they are escaping a “dangerous situation.” Their relief in finding someone who understands dissolves the moment they reveal their destinations: she is making aliyah to Israel, and he is moving from Israel to New York. Each is convinced the other is running in the wrong direction.
The skit is written for humor. It lands more like a mirror.
JFK ➡️ TLV
New York it’s been real ???????????? @Eretz_Nehederet pic.twitter.com/FRjd6uMX3w— Emily Austin (@emilyraustin) November 6, 2025
Fear has become the undercurrent of Jewish life over the last two years. It shapes decisions, divides communities, and colors how we see one another. In New York, questions about staying or leaving have become urgent and emotionally charged. One father whispered to me, “I don’t want to be the last one on the train.” A mother confided that she now sees attacks on Jewish schools as “inevitable.” Inside homes, the conversations have grown tense: fight or flee, speak up or stay quiet, trust or retreat.
Our synagogue’s rabbi recently urged us to reach across ideological lines, reminding us that unity has carried our people through darker moments than these. Some nodded. Others bristled. The room felt thick with unspoken fear.
I feel that fear as well. Jewish history lives in my breath and in the tightening of my body each time the news flashes across my phone. The weight of this moment is real. Yet so is the beauty I witness each day: educators building communities, families raising children with intention, young people stepping into leadership. Jewish life keeps insisting on itself.
Feeling fear is human. Responding to fear is the real work.
Fear begins to distort our decisions when it becomes our compass. Parenting from fear, teaching from fear, or leading from fear builds walls instead of roots. Children do not need to inherit our panic. They need to inherit our purpose.
Jewish parents and Jewish schools share a sacred responsibility: to teach courage in the presence of fear. Courage shaped not by denial or bravado, but by clarity, values, and lived commitment. Children must know who they are, what they stand for, and what they are here to build. Kindness, respect, and responsibility must be lived as mitzvot: daily acts of holiness that anchor them when the world feels unsteady.
This work often challenges modern parenting culture, which has grown more permissive and conflict-avoidant. Clear boundaries are sometimes mistaken for harshness. Yet boundaries form the vessels that allow children to grow. Children thrive when the world feels predictable. Routines, expectations, and consistent limits help them understand where they stand and what is expected. Structure communicates, “There is an order here. You are held.” In moments of uncertainty, stability becomes a form of love.
1. Children absorb our emotional world long before they understand our words. Emotional steadiness matters as much as any rule we set. A parent who speaks calmly, listens deeply, and responds rather than reacts models what groundedness looks like. Children borrow our nervous systems. They do not require us to be unafraid; they require us to be steady. When we say, “I feel nervous too, and here is how I am handling it,” we give them a template for carrying fear without collapsing under it.
2. Honesty matters. Children sense when something is wrong. Clear and measured truth-telling gives them a vocabulary for their own feelings. Dramatic statements heighten anxiety, while silence leaves them alone with their imaginations. A steady middle path: “This is a hard moment. Here are the facts. Here is what we can do”—teaches resilience and containment.
3. Values must become daily practice. Children learn character through lived experience far more than lectures. A parent who apologizes, a family who gives tzedakah together, siblings who help one another, these moments shape identity. Values practiced consistently become the inner compass children draw upon when the world feels confusing.
4. Jewish purpose belongs in this conversation. Jewish life is not solely about survival; it is about mission. Lighting Shabbat candles, attending synagogue, learning Torah, blessing our children — these rituals function as acts of spiritual resistance. They remind our children that they belong to something larger, older, and more enduring than any fear.
5. Community strengthens the foundation. Fear grows louder in isolation and quieter in connection. Schools, synagogues, youth groups, extended family are networks remind children that they are part of a people who show up for one another. Shared rituals and relationships become emotional anchors. A child surrounded by community learns that courage is not carried alone.
6. Parents today carry a dual obligation. The obligation to see the world clearly and the obligation to teach children how to live with hope inside that reality. Jewish tradition has always paired foresight with faith. Preparing for danger and cultivating joy have never been competing tasks.
7. Parenting Jewishly in this moment requires vigilance and vision. Children must learn to see the world as it is while still believing in the possibility of good. Resilience is practiced in daily choices, in shared rituals, in the way we speak and the steadiness we embody.
8. Our children are watching how we live right now. How we speak about fear, how we treat one another, how we set boundaries, how we show up when the future feels uncertain. Children who see adults rooted in values and steady in conviction learn what it means to be both unafraid and unbroken.
May we rise to this moment with clarity and courage. May our homes become places of strength and tenderness. May our children learn that fear may visit, and faith is what remains.
