We didn’t start the fire….

It has become virtually impossible these days to open a paper, scroll X, or go out for dinner with friends and family without having to confront the antisemitic elephant in the room. Every forum of interaction is blasting doomsday revelations, from the halls of government to the college campuses as if we have just uncovered vast conspiratorial phenomenon that leaves us shocked and dumbfounded. I find myself confounded when confronted by this regular barrage of hand-wringing and prophecies of Armageddon, as if this newly discovered epidemic that threatens to wipe us out has never occurred previously, and it is only thanks to the hyper-vigilantism of the millennial generation, who are at the vanguard of our last and best defense, valiantly warding off the perils of our annihilation from the comfort of their keyboards.
It truly boggles the mind to consider that our generation have led such a molly-coddled and narcissistic existence that the very idea of Jew-hate leaves us so utterly flabbergasted in our pointless pursuit of a rational explanation. If we carefully analyze our current existential crisis and perhaps reference our history, even recent history, that analysis will demonstrate that not only are we naïve, but our reaction is completely irrational and disproportionate to the circumstances we find ourselves in.
Off the bat, any analogy to 1930s Europe is so far beyond the pale that it actually trivializes that entire tragic epoch. We are not witnessing a government legislated systematic persecution of the Jewish people and while we might not love the policy and positions of our respective governments that is not a direct trajectory to Nuremberg laws or gas chambers by any stretch. Has there been an uptick in antisemitic incidents recently? Sure, but only when you use the last couple of decades as your dataset and ignore the past couple of millennia. More importantly, the uptick that we have seen has, for the most part, been nonviolent (i.e., a distinct lack of pogroms fortunately!) verbal abuse.
We have faced threats throughout history, but how should we react when the menace isn’t as immediate or violent? While offensive slogans and chants shouldn’t be taken lightly, do they really compare to the systematic persecution we’ve survived before? How should we navigate this new reality without losing sight of the real dangers?
When did we get so thin-skinned that people calling us names or chanting offensive slogans, caused such an intense discomfort that we question our very future? I watch the reactions to the campus protests and frankly find it amusing, entitled millennials in Ivy League institutions waving banners declaring “Queers for Palestine” and calling us mean monikers. This is the very epitome of ineffective activism and actually makes me proud that we live in a place and time where such freedom of idiotic expression is protected. Call me crazy, but I would not want to live in a society where people were not free to rally in defense of murder and rape even if I find it repugnant, vile and deeply offensive. I treasure and value our democratic freedoms even if it is a double-edged sword on occasion.
The line between free speech and protecting dignity isn’t ours to draw — it’s embedded in constitutional law. Our discomfort shouldn’t dictate what can or can’t be said. Yet, the question remains: How do we as a society handle speech that’s legally protected but morally offensive? Where should we stand, not as legal enforcers, but as individuals navigating this delicate balance between liberty and respect?
The real question is why do we even care? If we are honest with ourselves, we have never in our entire history had it as good as we do now. There are literally zero barriers to our pursuit of any education, career, travel or lifestyle choices that our hearts desire. This is unprecedented in our entire history. We can be as Jewish (or not Jewish) as we please without making any sacrifices. Jewish society has reached the pinnacles of every industry, government, philanthropy, arts, etc., without hindrance or barrier that was a feature of our existence until very recent history.
I’m reminded of the preacher who used to blast the pedestrians of Times Square, rain or shine, every Friday. I was a 12-year-old identifiably Jewish kid who had to pass him on the way to meeting my father for our weekly lunch and, without fail, he would call me out and verbally harass me. Eventually, I started responding to his accusations with witty retorts, or at least they seemed witty to an unsuspecting 12-year-old. He would accuse me in front of thousands of people of crucifying his god and I would respond that its possible, but nailing a fully grown man to a cross is probably the kind of thing I would remember doing. Once he shouted into his megaphone questioning how I could possibly explain the miracle of Jesus walking on water and I told him that, while I wasn’t there at the time to verify that particular feat, I am pretty sure that all Jewish mothers believe the same about their sons, and so on and so forth. One week, due to the normal chaos of the New York City subway system, I was running about 15 minutes behind schedule. I was mentally preparing for our weekly repartee: when I walked by the Time Square preacher, his first remark was, “Hey kid, why are you late?”
One hundred years ago, a Jew had to convert to Christianity to be accepted to the top European universities or if he wanted a prestigious position, he was forced to quit his job every Friday if he was Sabbath-observant and was subjected to fairly regular violence just for being Jewish. Today, we have to contend with the social media troll, hiding in his mother’s basement spewing vile words or the vapid pundit on television pontificating about their skewered sense of moral clarity. Our grandparents would be laughing at our cowering response and fatalistic predictions. Instead of lamenting the sunset of the Jewish renaissance, let us use this moment to mark and celebrate the glory of our ascendancy. Sure, history has taught us to remain vigilant and avoid complacency, but I am fairly confident that, while that moment of doom and gloom might come one day, today is certainly not that day.