We stand at a defining moment in Jewish history – a watershed demanding that we confront hard truths and make difficult choices. Today, Israel faces a relentless onslaught from enemies on all sides, each sworn to destroy us. Our homes endure a barrage of rockets, our children take refuge in bomb shelters, and our young men and women put their lives on hold to serve on the front lines defending our nation.
More than 2,000 lives have been lost, tens of thousands have been displaced from their homes, and 101 are still held hostage in the terror tunnels of Gaza. Across the Western world – from New York to London, Paris, Amsterdam, and beyond – Jews are hunted down, shouted at, beaten in the streets, harassed on university campuses, assaulted on subways, and threatened in their own neighborhoods.
The scope and severity of these atrocities spread daily. The hatred that never truly disappeared has returned, as if history insists on repeating itself.
In this dark landscape, 2024 resembles 1937 in ways that are chilling and unmistakable.
As a teenager, I found myself reading obsessively about the Holocaust, haunted by the choices faced by European Jews in the 1930s. Some saw the writing on the wall and made the painful decision to uproot their families, leaving everything behind to seek refuge in the United States or, for the most prescient, in Israel.
Some hid, in basements and attics, between walls. Others stayed, choosing to fight in ghettos or join the partisans in the forests, resisting with every ounce of strength. And then some closed their eyes, ignoring the signs or believing that the worst would pass – walking with their families to the trains bound for Auschwitz, assuring their children, “We will only be away for a few months.”
Facing resurgent antisemitism
I could not understand it: Why didn’t everyone flee? Why didn’t they all fight? Did they not see what was happening? Was it cowardice, or perhaps the evil was just too horrific to fathom? These questions weighed on me, and they ultimately became the cornerstone of my decision to leave America for Israel nearly 40 years ago. For me, there was only one answer.
Over the years, I have heard my friends in the United States and Europe repeat “Never again” at day schools, synagogues, and fundraisers, like a mantra or a prayer. Yet here we are, watching the same hatred resurface. The forms may differ and the faces may change but the end goal remains the same: the annihilation of the Jewish people. The threat is clear, yet millions of Jews seem once again to be turning a blind eye to the grotesque reality of antisemitism, living as though nothing has changed.
So I challenge each of you to take a moment, look in the mirror, and ask yourself: What kind of Jew am I? The kind who runs, the kind who helps, the kind who fights, or the kind who turns a blind eye?
Your response today will define not only your own fate but the future of the Jewish people for generations to come. The choice is yours.
The writer is an Israeli businessman, thought leader, activist, and host of a Hebrew podcast, The Leadership of Tomorrow.