Over the past two weeks, my conversations with community members have turned to the fear and anxiety that so many are feeling right now. Twice in the past two weeks we have seen violent, antisemitic attacks, first in Washington, D.C., and then in Boulder, Colorado. I keep hearing: That could have been here, that could have been us.  

Many have already written about the anger and outrage we’re also feeling — at the perpetrators of these heinous crimes, at the hateful antisemitic and anti-Zionist ideologies and rhetoric that leads to and attempts to justify this violence, at the people who cannot or will not call out and condemn these hateful acts for what they are. As Jewish Community Relations Council’s (JCRC) CEO Jeremy Burton put it this week, “Let us be clear and unequivocal: This is not ‘political violence.’ This is antisemitism. This is the physical manifestation of the hate and vitriol that has been allowed to fester and metastasize in circles across our country.”  

I share that anger and appreciate the friends, allies, and civic and political leaders who have reached out, spoken out, and stood in clear solidarity with our community.  

And, I want to return to the very real pain and fear people are experiencing right now. People are asking: Is it safe to send my child to her Jewish preschool, or to attend Shabbat services this week? Should I think twice about hosting or attending a community event? Am I doing everything I need to do to protect myself and my family?  

Terror, violence, and hate threaten more than our physical well-being. They aim to strike fear in our hearts, to intimidate us, to stop us from identifying proudly or gathering joyfully. 

I love this community, and I think about its physical and emotional safety, security, and well-being constantly. Jews here and everywhere should be able to engage and participate in Jewish life without the fear of putting themselves in harm’s way.   

This is why CJP established our Communal Security Initiative (CSI) almost 10 years ago, with a team of professionals who are in daily communication with local and state police, the FBI, and national security networks, and who work vigilantly and tirelessly on behalf of us all. I’m grateful for my CSI colleagues and the security professionals and volunteers across this community who work to keep us safe.  

More recently, CJP’s Center for Combating Antisemitism has joined this fight — together with local and national partners — against the hatred we are experiencing in schools, on campuses, in workplaces, and civic spaces.  

This is a collective effort.   

What gives me hope is the young people in all our Jewish schools, the family smachot (celebrations), the Shabbat services, the communal events — these are all forms of spiritual resistance. We do not hide. We find strength in community and in one another.  

This week, I returned to the words of Mijal Bitton, who wrote: “This is what Jewish peoplehood feels like. The pain is telling us that the organism is working, that we are still a ‘we.’ This pain is the essence of being  —  or becoming  —  a Jew.” I would add that it is the pain of being — or becoming — a community.  

That visceral sense of “it could have been me” is also the visceral sense that we are all bound up in this together. A threat against a Jew anywhere in the world is a threat against us. An attack on Boulder or D.C. is an attack on Sharon, Wayland, Swampscott. The pain of peoplehood reminds us of what it means to be part of a connected community. We have our differences and certainly our disagreements, but we have so much in common and we are ultimately responsible for one another. This has been the secret to our survival, resilience, and hope for thousands of years.   

For me, knowing that we are in this together, that we’ve been through hard times before, and that we will get through them again, is a source of inspiration and strength.  

Thank you for being in this with me.