Judaism Amid Modern-Day Anti-Semitism

Many seem to assume that anti-semitism, and any reason for Jews to be in fear due to their own identities, started and ended in the 1940s with the Holocaust. This couldn’t be further from the truth. With new antisemitic events in the news each week, and personal attacks on who we are every day in our own communities all over the world, there has never been a time like this to fear unknown, unrecognized, and unfiltered anti-Semitism. 

Jews everywhere, like myself, shake, scream, and sob in their own homes every time they hear another horrible event has demolished our community again. But still, we stand strong, because we can’t show a moment of weakness, not unless we want another tragedy. The events on everyone’s minds are the Tree of Life shooting and the recent hostage situation in a synagogue in Texas. However, what they don’t account for is the things not broadcasted through mass media. Things like Jews being beaten in the streets because of all that is happening in Israel, Jewish schools, synagogues, and cemeteries being defaced with swastikas and hateful words, and Jewish kids being mocked by their friends. Many don’t even know about the anti-semitic slurs and symbols painted across high school bathrooms, like Pope High School in Marietta, GA. Many Americans, in fact, believe that anti-semitism is in a decline. Whereas, when asking American Jews, 82% believe it is increasing. Only around 44% of the general, non-Jewish public, agrees that there is an increase.  

And somehow, although we make up less than 2% of the world population, we are still the targets of over half of all religious-based hate crimes. While many think the ending of the Holocaust marked the end of all anti-semtism, in 2020, hate crimes against the Jewish population accounted for nearly 60% of all religion-based hate crimes, and this was a decrease from past years. On top of that, the Jewish community lives in a constant threat. 

Personally, worrying that the wrong person will find out I’m Jewish is always occupying space in my mind. This is the case for pretty much every Jew in America. Every aspect of my traditions seems like a possible risk to my life. Even the most simple proof of my identity. For example, I wake up in the morning to a beautiful Jewish star and חי (pronounced “hi”) jewelry gifted to me by my grandparents, and am forced to put it aside out of crippling fear that it could be a danger to me. A mezuzah adorns every doorway in my home. Beautiful, fragile glass shapes from my childhood and onward. However, every time I pass by them, rather than admiring their gorgeous fragility or the meaning behind them, I fear who may see them.

For much of the Jewish community, going to synagogue for any reason, especially for services with crowds of people, is so incredibly nerve-racking and dangerous. Since I was little, anytime I wake up to get dressed for services, I think about how easy it would be to run in heels and a long dress. When we park across the street, I note all of the police and security, wondering if it’s enough to actually do anything at all. My legs shake on the walk to temple from the car, across Peachtree, and I wrap myself into my arms, covering, hiding, and keeping my head down, hoping that nobody driving by notices me, even though I know I’m in the middle of a crowd of people in kipot and fancy clothes across from a synagogue. Entering the services, my eyes are trained on the doors at all times. I listen religiously to hear the sound of gunshots or screams or footsteps, when I should be focusing on praying. I watch the grand chandelier in the room, trying to calculate if the glass would cut me if someone was to shoot it and make it fall. And I try my best not to look for a familiar face in the crowd, just in case I have to watch them die. 

The fear is so all-consuming and overwhelming that I can’t focus anytime I’m at my temple, or any religious outing for that matter. Even if I’m just going in to teach young kids or play random games in Sunday school, I worry about my friends in other rooms and my little sister on the floor below me, and how someone else might turn on the news later that day and find us all held hostage or dead. Many communities, like the Jewish community, have to face these fears daily, fears that nobody else can truly understand until they walk a mile in their shoes, fears that are ignored on a constant basis. I could be watching the news or having my parents tell me yet another thing has happened, and while I’m shivering, overthinking, and on the verge of tears, others post any news story they see on their Instagram story and forget about it. Plenty of people that know and love me would never guess that this is how I live my day, my life. 

This is the case for almost all of the Jewish community. A life under constant scrutiny, threat, and utter fear. Courage, strength, and resilience are words this community lives by. We rise again and again, we stand our ground, and we fight for what we believe in. It is our right to believe in Judaism; it is our right to be able to pray and live without apprehension, and anti-semitism; it is not something that we will let drown us. No matter how strong it gets, we will fight.