Where are all of my non-Jewish friends amid the Israel-Hamas war?
People rally against antisemitism in Montauk Monday. Police are investigating antisemitic graffiti at various locations in Montauk. Credit: Gordon M. Grant
Where are you?
Some of you attended my bat mitzvah, even if you didn't understand a word I chanted. Others attended my wedding, shouting Mazel Tov as the glass shattered, dancing a hora to unfamiliar music. Some of you became dear friends as fellow parents, joining my family for Jewish holidays, learning about Jewish and Israeli culture through school international nights, or kvelling as my daughter became a bat mitzvah.
You celebrated my Judaism with me, just as I celebrated your religions, cultures and histories. And you decried antisemitism with me, as others marched through Charlottesville or murdered synagogue attendees in Pittsburgh.
Where are you now?
In the course of three weeks, my circle of non-Jewish friends and allies seems to have shrunk. Those who always had my back, whom I trusted and loved, were silent on Oct. 7 and the days that followed. As public sentiment turned against Israel, some turned away further, attending rallies, sharing ugly rhetoric, making disturbing, even hateful comments, even if perhaps they weren't meant that way.
My Jewish counterparts were sharing and sobbing, praying and screaming. But beyond that bubble, and a few very special non-Jewish friends and advocates, there was nothing.
Meanwhile, the floodgates of antisemitism opened, starting with rally chants and turning into more direct threats, graffiti, even echoes of Nazi Germany. Those who were always antisemitic were empowered. Others, who see Jews and the Jewish State not as a minority whom others have sought to destroy but as an "oppressor" seeking to commit "genocide," took up the cause.
The rhetoric ratcheted, danger loomed. But though we've stood together before — in ugly culture wars, in fights for LGBTQ+ rights and battles against bias and racism — you're not standing with me now.
As the narrative shifted, as public perception moved, you moved, too. I understand and share the outrage and deep concern for human rights in Gaza, just as deeply as I understand the real fear Israel lives under and the continued concern for the hundreds of innocent Israeli and American hostages.
But do you understand the impact this is having and will have closer to home?
Antisemitism and anti-Israel rhetoric aren't new. I've experienced it, written about it, talked about it, and cried about it. But until now, we always had the support we needed politically and personally to get through it. This time is different. Something has shifted in the public mindset, in the way people now perceive and paint Israel and the Jewish people.
This crisis has now targeted us — American Jews — in our homes, our neighborhoods, our workplaces and our schools and colleges. I admit I can't even fully explain it. But I know how it makes me feel. Untethered. Unsettled. Unmoored. And terrified. What happens to Jewish Americans if our support system is gone? What happens to Israel as a Jewish State if it continues to lose the battle of information and public perception, if its friends turn against it? What happens here when antisemitism is excused, empowered, even celebrated?
We are heading down a path that could be the most perilous one Jews have experienced since the Holocaust. There may be no good road ahead — and no way to go back.
Where are you? And where do we go from here? The answer is one I rarely give — an answer filled with fear and trepidation.
I don't know.
Columnist Randi F. Marshall's opinions are her own.
Randi Marshall is a member of the Newsday editorial board.
