Gathering together as Jews is becoming harder
A police vehicle sits outside the Temple Israel synagogue Friday, in West Bloomfield Township, Mich. Credit: AP / Paul Sancya
When the Temple Israel congregation gathered in West Bloomfield Township, Michigan, a day after a vehicle filled with explosives rammed into their building in an antisemitic terror attack, I and more than 1,000 others joined them virtually.
Together, we welcomed Shabbat, with prayer and songs about light, peace and healing. The familiar words and uplifting melodies brought joy, but there also was a heaviness, a fog of concern and sadness that pervaded the evening.
The following morning, I attended Sabbath services at my own synagogue. There, after security guards scanned us with a hand wand, checked our bags and allowed us inside, we prayed and sang some more. In the pews, flyers detailed how to handle an armed shooter.
Even at a terrifying time, that Shabbat illustrated how tightly knit the Jewish community remains, how our history, prayers, cultural ties and, yes, love for the state of Israel, bind us in a force field of resilience and strength.
But underneath the joy and celebration, there was a darker undercurrent, a realization that cuts deeply. Being a Jew, celebrating that Judaism and gathering in Jewish communities is hard — and becoming harder.
There’s worry over our physical safety. After a mass shooter killed 11 people at Pittsburgh’s Tree of Life synagogue in 2018, many Jewish facilities hardened their doors and windows and employed private security guards. On Saturday, my rabbi noted it might’ve been easier to stay in bed rather than come to synagogue — but, in part, those guards and other measures gave him — and us — the feeling of protection we needed. Now, that’s likely not enough, especially as the war in Iran ratchets up and as antisemitic attacks hit Toronto, Liege, Belgium, Oslo, Amsterdam and Rotterdam.
There’s also a more existential concern. The exponential rise in antisemitism is no longer a surprising fringe element. It’s now the norm.
And there’s something else, made clear amid reports that Michigan suspect Ayman Mohamad Ghazali had family members killed by an Israeli airstrike in Lebanon:
Anti-Israel, anti-Zionist sentiment is antisemitism.
Please stop telling me otherwise. There’s no other explanation as to why someone angry at the Israeli military would target a Jewish synagogue filled with Jewish children.
Then came excuses, from anti-Zionist, antisemitic groups like the so-called Jewish Voice for Peace. “The person who reportedly carried out this attack was a man whose siblings, niece and nephew were just murdered in Lebanon by Israeli bombs,” the group said. “This is grief upon grief.”
Since the Oct. 7 terrorist attacks in Israel, and that nation’s military response in Gaza, many have tried to tell me that outrage against Israel has nothing to do with me as a Jew.
That’s just not true.
Specific criticisms of the Israeli government and its military, especially related to the Gaza humanitarian crisis and the war in Iran, are valid. But too often, people instead respond by rejecting Israel as a Jewish state, and hatefully targeting American Jews and their Jewish identity here, whether or not they support Israel.
An NBC poll conducted before the Michigan attack showed a sea change in how voters view Israel; 60% of Democrats and nearly half of independents view Israel negatively. A recent American Jewish Committee report showed a staggering 91% of American Jews said violent antisemitism last year made them feel less safe as Jews. If you think there’s no connection, think again.
I’ve had enough. I just want to live as a Jew, to join my Jewish community in prayer and song, without worry or fear, in a Jewish place that doesn’t have to be an armed fortress.
Is that too much to ask?
Right now, it is.
Columnist Randi F. Marshall’s opinions are her own.
Randi Marshall is a member of the Newsday editorial board.
