The world has spoken: It’s time to take care of us

After I published “When Our Children Hide Their Stars, It’s Gone Too Far,” a few people reached out and asked, “What can we do?” The truth is, this moment demands much more than learning how to argue on social media or how to win debates. For me, the real question is how we help our children feel secure, proud, and grounded in their Jewish identity when the world around them feels uncertain. And frankly, how we do that for ourselves as well. This is my attempt to answer that, as honestly as I can.

We are living in a time that calls for self-reflection, responsibility, and action. The rise in antisemitism is not simply the byproduct of political unrest or global tensions. It is something deeper. It has become a test of whether we still have the courage to believe in ourselves and to transmit that belief to the next generation. That takes time, commitment, and resources.

I keep thinking about the conversations our children are having about whether it’s safe to wear a Magen David in the city or whether they should hide a school sweatshirt. No Jewish child should ever be asking those questions. And yet, what inspires me is that in spite of these hard conversations, they still want to wear their kippot, their necklaces, these symbols of belonging. Our children want to hold onto their identity. The question is whether we will do the work that allows them to keep holding it proudly.

This is the time to take care of us, not in a defensive way, not from fear, but from commitment. Jewish history has taught us many things, but one lesson stands out: whenever the world turns hostile or confused, we strengthen ourselves through education, community, and a renewed sense of purpose.

Jewish education has always been our first line of resilience and endurance. It shapes identity, deepens understanding, and gives children the confidence to stand tall. A strong Jewish day school doesn’t just teach Torah, Hebrew, and Jewish history. It gives children a foundation and a sense of self that the world cannot easily shake. So yes, we must invest in Jewish education. Not casually. Not when it’s convenient. But with intention and courage.

And this is where Jewish philanthropy becomes essential. I say this as an educator, a parent, and a grandparent: if there was ever a moment to direct our philanthropic energy toward strengthening Jewish identity, this is it. When we fund Jewish schools, camps, youth programs, and community centers, we are not turning inward. We are building the future. We are telling our children, “You matter enough for us to invest in your Jewish life.” Jewish philanthropy is not just generosity. It is responsibility. And at this moment, it makes far more sense for Jewish philanthropists to put their support behind Jewish institutions rather than universities that have become bastions of antisemitism, or cultural centers that have plenty of other supporters. Truly, if we cannot rely on Jewish philanthropists and foundations, who can we turn to?

And in America, we must also pay attention to our politics. Which politicians are standing up against antisemitism and against all forms of hate? Who is taking real steps to protect Jews? Who are the friends of Israel, even when they might criticize from time to time?  As Jews, we need to keep our eyes on the political climate and ensure we are not abandoned. And honestly, Jewish interests are American interests, because we have always been the canary in the coal mine.

But taking care of us is not only about institutions or politics. It is also about community. Show up. Be present. Celebrate Shabbat and holidays with your children and grandchildren. Let them see you choosing Jewish life even when the world feels uncertain. Strength grows when Jews come together in synagogues, in schools, in community gatherings, and in each other’s homes. Attend Jewish events. Join boards of Jewish institutions. Give your time to Jewish causes.

And then there is the work we do at home. Tell your children and grandchildren the stories of our people, not only the painful ones, but the ones filled with courage, beauty, and faith. Tell your own Jewish story. Remind them that they come from generations who faced challenges far greater than these and still held onto hope. Jewish resilience isn’t abstract. It is woven into our memory. And when our children know who they come from, they walk differently in the world. We are an amazing people. Live like we are.

Most of all, taking care of us means teaching our children that being Jewish is not a burden to hide but a gift to carry with pride. When they see the adults in their lives wearing their own symbols confidently, supporting Jewish institutions, speaking honestly when needed, and choosing to remain visible, something inside them strengthens. 

So when our children ask whether they should hide who they are, our answer must be clear. No. You never need to hide your Judaism. And we will not hide ours. We will stand with you, teach you, support you, and remind you, again and again, that being a Jew is something to celebrate.

This moment is not just about Israel, or world politics, or public discourse. It is about the Jewish future. It is about reminding ourselves that we are worthy of investment, worthy of joy, and worthy of standing confidently in a world that too often tries to marginalize and isolate us. And it is about building and sustaining a modern, thriving country in our ancient homeland, a land we reclaimed after almost two thousand years of exile.

So yes, it’s time to take care of us, our children, our schools, our community, and our story. Not because we are fragile, but because we value who we are. Not because we are weak, but because we are strong. Not because we are afraid, but because this is exactly what Jews do in moments like these. We choose life, as our people always have. We choose one another. And we choose to remain visibly, unapologetically, joyfully Jewish.

Our children are watching.