Where to even start. With honesty, I guess. The past two and a half years have been the hardest time of my life. I truly cannot put into words how completely my reality has shifted. In the weeks following the October 7th, 2023, attacks in Israel, I was afraid to walk alone, especially after dark. I remember feeding my friends cats about three-quarters of a mile from my house and speed-walking home with my hood on, racing to be somewhere that I didn’t feel so vulnerable. The unending violence done to Jewish people around the world in the time since made my behavior seem less that of a paranoid person and more that of a realist. Nowhere in the city felt safer than inside the walls of my apartment. I stayed inside those walls as much as I could. I still do.
I am not going to talk about the events of that day or what is happening half a world away. I am not going to try to explain the history I have worked hard to learn in the time since or bring in context for why things might have transpired the way they have. I am not an expert, and so unlike some people I am not going to weigh in here with my opinions or try to change anyone’s mind. You are welcome to think what you want. But here is something I am an expert on: my lived experience. And I can tell you with every single ounce of my being that things are not good for Jews.
This week, a man ran his truck through the doors of a synagogue in Michigan while a preschool was in session. There were over 100 children, plus staff, inside that building. Not only did he ram his car through the front doors, but he continued to drive down the hallway with explosives in his truck. The only reason that he wasn’t able to kill people is because he was shot dead by armed security that the Jewish community pays for. Just sit back and think about that.
People, and newspapers, are now alleging or insinuating that he did this because he had family members, including children, who were killed in a bombing in Lebanon. It is horrible that members of his family were killed. He must have been consumed by grief and anger. And also he took that hurt and that rage and he drove through the front doors of a synagogue and down the hallway with a truck full of explosives, presumably to hurt or kill the people inside. The people inside who had nothing to do with what happened in Lebanon. The people inside were children. And they were Jewish. They are Jewish. That is why they were targeted.
I wish I were surprised when I read about this horrible incident, but I was not. Things like this have been happening regularly over the past few years. There have been synagogues set on fire and peppered with bullets. Jewish folks have been beaten for the crime of speaking Hebrew. People in Colorado marching for the release of the hostages in Gaza were attacked with Molotov cocktails, one of them, Karen Diamond, later died due to the burns covering her body. Two young Jewish people, Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim, were shot to death in Washington, D.C. Governor Josh Shapiro’s home was set on fire on Passover while he, his wife, and their children slept upstairs. People were hunted down and killed for celebrating Chanukah on Bondi Beach in Australia. None of these people has anything to do with what is happening in the Middle East, and the violence done to them does nothing to end the conflict. These people, every single one of them, were targeted because they were Jewish. Full stop. There is no other way to look at this, no equivocation, no “but what about this.” No. This is targeted violence against a group of people based on our ethnicity.
The fact of it happening is bad enough. But I think the thing that hurts the most is how alone a lot of us feel. So let me just give you a few examples of what it’s like. When I go to an event hosted by a Jewish group or at a Jewish institution, the location is kept secret until close to the event to keep us safe. We then have to walk through metal detectors and past plainclothes police officers or private security. Those of us who go have plans for where to meet should something happen and we have to flee. When some people find out that I am Jewish—whether I have offered it up or they have asked because, well, look at me—they start asking me my positions on Gaza. I was once approached at a wedding and asked if I was a Jewess. I could go on, but I won’t.
I am not just writing this to explain what it’s been like. I want to go on the record for how bad it is getting. You can believe me or not, but the fact is that antisemitism and rabid Jew hatred are spreading like wildfire. The proof is in the heightened security around all Jewish institutions during our holidays, including Shabbat. The proof is in the proliferation of juice box emojis as coded language on social media and conspiracy theories being spread by those on the left and the right. The proof is in the rise of the term “zio,” which was coined by David Duke, by the way. The proof is in the resurgence of Soviet-era propaganda, Elon Musk doing a Nazi salute on stage, and a democratic candidate for Senate having a Nazi-era tattoo on his chest for 18 years and people actually believing he just never knew. The proof is in what happened this week in Michigan and the fact that most of us were not surprised.
There is this idea among some in the Jewish diaspora that is meant to offer an alternative to Israel as the beacon of safety for us. The word is “doikat,” hereness. The idea, as I understand it, is that Jews should have the right to live in safety where we reside. When I first heard it, it sounded nice. But I grounded myself in reality and understood that we cannot do that alone. We are not making ourselves unsafe here. We are not responsible for the violence done against us, and we cannot be responsible for stopping it. We need allies. “Hereness” for Jews is only possible if there are people here who think we are worth fighting for.
For the first time in my life, I do not feel a sense of safety where I reside. And that is not because I’ve done anything wrong. That is not because there is something wrong with, or bad about, Jewish people. It’s because people treat us like we are pulling strings, like we are a monolith with unimaginable power, like everything happening is being done for us or by us. I promise you that is not true. Those kids in Michigan didn’t bomb Lebanon. Those people marching in Colorado weren’t marching for war; they were marching for peace. Josh Shapiro was sharing the story of Passover with friends and family, as Jews have done for thousands of years. The revelers on Bondi Beach were celebrating Chanukkah. We are not trying to run the world; we are trying to live, just like everyone else. So please, stop blaming Jewish people everywhere for something a Jewish person somewhere did. And stop blaming Jewish people everywhere for something a Jewish person somewhere supposedly did. Stop blaming Jewish people. And stop allowing people around you to blame us. Say something. Push back on the bullshit. I can tell you that it will make a difference.
franklyrebekah 