Written by Jerry Elman, November 11, 2023
The October 7th Hamas massacre of over 1200 innocent individuals and the subsequent war have contributed to an alarming spike in antisemitic sentiments globally. This spike has reached a distressing intensity, drawing parallels to the dark era of the German Third Reich and the Holocaust.
In the wake of these events, there are disturbing reports of increased hostility and threats towards Jewish people, not only in Israel but around the world. The Jewish community is grappling with intense feelings of fear and despair, feeling marginalized and threatened in a world where they should belong and feel safe.
Jews have always existed in a world where antisemitism persists. Ours is a journey riddled with complexities, challenges, and an enduring sense of resilience. Antisemitism is not merely a concept or a distant historical fact; it is a tangible, pervasive presence that shapes our day-to-day existence.
Living as a Jew in a world where antisemitism is a daily reality presents a unique set of challenges that are difficult for non-Jews to understand. This is an attempt to bridge that gap in understanding.
It’s important to recognize that the Jewish people have faced prejudice and hate for an exceptionally long period, spanning over 2500 years. This enduring experience of antisemitism, marked by its intensity and longevity, sets the Jewish experience apart in the context of global history and societal dynamics.
In this personal account, I aim to share my experiences, the subtle and overt ways antisemitism manifests, and how it influences my identity, relationships, and worldview.
Antisemitism seeps into my everyday life in both blatant and subtle ways. It appears in offhand comments made by colleagues, in the caricatures I see in many media portrayals, and in the conspiracy theories that regularly surface in social conversations.
Each instance feels like a small cut, a reminder that to some, I am forever an outsider. Choosing when to speak out or stay silent, when to reveal or conceal my Jewish identity, is a constant calculation, an emotional labor that is as exhausting as it is unavoidable.
My Jewish identity is both a source of immense pride and a potential liability. I wear my Star of David necklace as a symbol of defiance and faith, knowing that its presence could incite verbal and even physical threats. Maintaining Jewish traditions is an act of cultural and religious affirmation, but they also often feel like acts of courage in a world that doesn’t always welcome them.
As a Jew, my life is deeply enmeshed in a tapestry of history that spans millennia, marked by both profound tragedy and unwavering resilience. This history is not just a collection of dates and events; it’s a personal saga that flows through my veins, filled with emotions that range from despair to pride, from grief to hope. The Roman destruction, the expulsions, the Holocaust – they are not merely chapters in history books; they are palpable parts of my identity.
The destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans in 70 CE holds profound significance in Jewish history and collective memory. For Jews, this event symbolizes a profound loss and the beginning of a long period of diaspora. It represents not just the physical destruction of a central place of worship and community but also the loss of our homeland. It was the most significant turning point in Jewish identity and cohesion.
The expulsions from Spain, England, and France are stories that have brought tears to my eyes. Imagining over 200,000 Jews in Spain torn from their homes, forced to choose between their faith, their land, and their lives, I feel a heartache that’s hard to put into words. It’s a mixture of empathy for their suffering and a burning anger at the injustice they endured. The stories of the conversos (those who converted) secretly clinging to their Jewish faith fill me with both admiration and a profound sadness for the fear and duplicity they had to live with.
The Holocaust is a wound in my heart that never fully heals. Knowing that six million of my people were systematically exterminated is a source of enduring grief and horror. It’s not just a statistic; it’s a personal loss. I carry the weight of this tragedy every day – it’s in the stories of my parents and relatives who survived, in the family tree branches that abruptly end, and in the haunting images of concentration and death camps that linger in my mind.
Facing antisemitism today is an ongoing emotional struggle. Each encounter – be it a thoughtless comment or a news report of a hate crime – reignites a mixture of fear, anger, and defiance in me. It’s a reminder that the shadows of the past still loom over the present, and it fuels my determination to stand proudly as a Jew despite the risks.
Celebrating Jewish traditions is an act filled with bittersweet pride. I feel a deep connection to my ancestors, a joy in the continuity of our traditions, and an emotional awareness of those who were denied these simple freedoms of faith and tradition.
Throughout history and in my own life, allies have been invaluable sources of support and comfort. Their empathy, understanding, and solidarity in the face of antisemitism are not just acts of kindness; they are lifelines that restore my faith in humanity and give me hope for a more inclusive future.
My journey as a Jew is an emotional odyssey that spans thousands of years and touches the deepest parts of my soul. It’s a journey marked by tears for the past, determination in the present, and an unquenchable hope for the future.
The resilience I carry is tinged with both sadness and pride. It’s a resilience forged through generations of facing adversity, a testament to the unbreakable spirit of my people. Embracing this resilience, I am often filled with a sense of awe and responsibility – a desire to honor the struggles and triumphs of those who came before me.
By sharing my story, I honor the memories of those who suffered before me, confront the challenges of today, and dream of a world where being Jewish is synonymous with dignity, respect, and peace.