This is what I chose: A call to clarity from a Jew by choice in Maine

I am a Jew by choice, a leader in Maine’s quickly growing Jewish community, and someone who believes deeply in the values of justice, resilience, and peace.

In September 2024, the Portland City Council unanimously passed a resolution urging the city to divest from companies “complicit in the occupation of Palestine.” It was the only country named. The resolution made no mention of the October 7th massacre—the deadliest day for Jews since the Holocaust. It did not acknowledge the more than 1,200 people slaughtered by Hamas, the rapes, the kidnappings, or the more than 100 hostages still held in Gaza. Not one name. Not one word. Not one candle.

This is what it means to be a Jew in the US today.

But to understand the danger of this moment, you need to understand its context. The rise in antisemitism here in Maine is not happening in a vacuum.

Historically, Maine was not built to welcome Jews. In the early 20th century, signs in hotel windows in Bar Harbor and Kennebunkport read “No Jews or Dogs Allowed.” In 1919, Hebrew School students in Old Orchard Beach were threatened by a local mob. Jewish college students were denied entry into fraternities. Country clubs, coastal real estate, and leadership positions in public institutions were, for decades, closed off to Jews.

We built anyway. We stayed anyway. And still—too often—we have remained invisible.

When you are Jewish, you learn to keep one eye on your neighbors and one on the exits. You learn that safety can be conditional. That you can be embraced in one breath and erased in the next.

And yet, I chose this.

I became Jewish not because it was easy or fashionable, but because Judaism gave me a framework for dignity, justice, accountability, and resilience. It gave me language for what I already believed: that we are responsible for one another, that we are commanded to remember, that peace is holy but not passive.

We were not handed Judaism. We inherited it, defended it, rebuilt it—and in some cases, like mine—we ran toward it with open arms, because we knew it to be a source of light in a world that often goes dark.

But in the darkness of today’s political moment, I am forced to ask: Where are the people who we once marched beside? Where are the clergy, the city councilors, the nonprofit leaders who claim to stand for equity and inclusion?

You cannot say “Never Again” while defending Hamas.
You cannot fight white supremacy while ignoring Jewish trauma.
You cannot preach justice while rendering Jews unworthy of empathy.

And yet, this is precisely what is happening—not just globally, but right here in my own backyard.

In Maine, the ADL reported that antisemitic incidents quadrupled in 2023—a staggering and deeply personal statistic in a state with a growing, but still relatively small Jewish population. We’ve seen this uptick reflected not just in swastikas and slurs, but in policy, protest, and polite indifference.

Nationally, the past few weeks alone have been chilling. A young couple working for the Israeli Embassy was shot and killed outside the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC. Molotov cocktails were thrown at Jewish centers in Colorado. Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro, the state’s first Jewish governor, had his family home set on fire in an arson attack.

And while the press continues to rush out unverified or deeply flawed reporting in favor of clicks, corrections—when they come—arrive far too late to undo the damage. In early June, The Washington Post was forced to revise a story that blamed Israel for the deaths of over 30 Palestinians near a Rafah aid site, admitting it had failed to meet its own standards by omitting Israel’s denial and relying solely on Hamas-run sources. Earlier this year, the BBC apologized for airing a Gaza warzone documentary narrated by the son of a senior Hamas official—without disclosing the connection. CNN, The New York Times, Al Jazeera—all have published or aired explosive claims that were later retracted, corrected, or quietly removed. The lie goes viral. The truth gets buried.

We are not imagining this.

And still, I know: not every Jew sees it the same way.

Not every Jew is a Zionist. Not every Jew loves or defends Israel as a homeland for the Jewish people. There have always been internal Jewish movements, even historically grotesque ones—like “Jews for Hitler”—that took pride in their alienation from the larger collective.

But let’s be clear: the existence of dissent within the Jewish community does not grant moral authority to those outside it who weaponize that dissent to excuse or amplify hatred. There are white nationalists and terror apologists hiding in plain sight under the banner of “Free Palestine.” Anyone who claims to want a future of peace and liberation must first be willing to confront the rot within their own movement.

To those who say they are anti-Zionist but not antisemitic, I say: Start proving it. Show us that you care about Jewish safety, not just Palestinian sovereignty. Show us that your solidarity is based in love, not in scapegoating. Show us that when Jews are threatened, you’ll light a candle and take a stand—not just offer a shrug and say, “It’s complicated.”

Because what’s happening now is not complicated.

Hamas is a terror organization.
Antisemitism is rising at historic levels.
Jews are being threatened, doxxed, beaten, and murdered—not for what we believe, but for who we are.

To my neighbors, elected officials, and fellow Mainers: I am asking you to stop being afraid of nuance and start being brave about truth. Speak out when Jewish institutions are attacked. Condemn hate groups when they show up in our streets. Learn the history of antisemitism in our state before deciding who is powerful and who is vulnerable.

To those who look to me for leadership in this moment: I promise I will not look away. I will keep naming what I see. I will keep making space for grief and for hope. I will keep showing up for peace and for Jewish dignity.

I am a Jew by choice. And I am choosing, again and again, to live out the values of my people: to repair what is broken, to love without flinching, and to say what must be said—all in the name of Am Yisrael.