We Are Not Going Anywhere

At a moment of rising fear, Jewish history—and Jewish agency—demand presence, not retreat.

The reflections below grow out of remarks I recently shared at the AJC Long Island’s 2025 annual dinner. I left that evening convinced that what was said there needs to be said more widely—and with clarity.

In recent months, I’ve heard a question I never expected to hear again with such urgency from so many Jews: Where am I going to go?

I hear it from New Yorkers contemplating a move to Israel. From Israelis considering New York or Miami. From Jews in France—in numbers that should alarm anyone familiar with Jewish history—seriously weighing aliyah not out of Zionist idealism, but out of fear. I hear it from parents worried about their children on college campuses, and from professionals wondering whether being openly Jewish has once again become a liability. And increasingly, I hear it from Jews in places like Toronto, where antisemitism has begun to feel less episodic and more structural.

Fear is real. It would be dishonest to deny it.

But the answer to fear cannot be flight.

We are not leaving New York.
We are not leaving Europe.
We are not leaving Toronto.
We are not leaving Sydney.
We are not leaving anywhere.

For the first time in 2,000 years, the Jewish people are not a powerless minority dependent on the goodwill of rulers whose tolerance can vanish overnight. We have a sovereign state. We have an army. We have the capacity to defend ourselves. We have allies, relationships, and influence. And perhaps most importantly, we have memory.

Jewish history teaches us what happens when antisemitism metastasizes unchecked. It also teaches us something equally important: retreat has never saved us. Silence has never protected us. And hoping others will fight our battles for us has never ended well.

This moment demands something different.

It demands resolve without panic. Strength without bravado. Pride without apology.

Antisemitism today is not isolated or accidental. It is global, networked, and adaptive. It appears across ideologies—on the far right and the far left—often cloaked in the language of conspiracy, moral absolutism, or anti-Zionism. That reality requires a response that is equally global: coordinated, strategic, and sustained.

But it must begin locally.

It begins when Jews refuse to disappear from public life. When we remain visible in our institutions, professions, campuses, and civic spaces. When we invest in training advocates rather than outsourcing our voice. When we stop treating Jewish confidence as provocative and Jewish pride as optional.

This is not only about Israel—though Israel is central. It is about whether Jews will continue to show up fully in the societies we help build, or whether we will once again shrink ourselves in the hope that invisibility will purchase safety.

History is unambiguous on how that strategy ends.

We do not need to exaggerate the danger we face. But we do need to be clear-eyed about it. Nor do we need to choose between confidence and humility. We can hold both. We can defend ourselves while remaining deeply committed to democratic values, pluralism, and the dignity of others.

What distinguishes this moment from so many before it is agency.

We have choices our ancestors did not. And agency carries responsibility.

The next chapter of Jewish history will not be written only in Jerusalem. It will be written in New York, Paris, London, Toronto, Sydney, and cities around the world. It will be written by those who choose engagement over withdrawal, courage over comfort, and responsibility over despair.

We are not going anywhere.

And in this moment, that may be the most important declaration the Jewish people can make.