Real fear is here
At our most recent gathering, something surfaced quietly but unmistakably: many Jewish participants in the room have been living with a persistent sense of fear since October 7 — in schools, at work, even in casual social settings. Some spoke about learning to soften themselves for others, to avoid being “too visibly Jewish,” to assess rooms for safety. For many non-Jewish neighbors present, this was the first time they realized the extent of that fear. The shift in the room was immediate and tender — I didn’t know. And now I do.
Why is it controversial?
We also named something harder: it has somehow become controversial to stand up for Jewish safety. To say that October 7 was terrorism. To say that Jewish life is worth protecting. It should not be radical to defend Jews — yet many in the room described being challenged, isolated, or even attacked for doing so. At the same time, the conversation expanded to the larger pattern: how global attention fixates intensely on Israel while mass atrocities in Sudan, the Congo, Yemen, or against Uyghurs in China draw hardly any sustained outrage. The question was not, “Which suffering matters more?” The question was, “Why do we only talk about Israel and the Middle East conflict when so many others in the world are facing hardships? What is being revealed in that imbalance?”
Where do we get our information?
Another realization took root: we are not all drawing from the same sources. Some are seeing raw footage, primary accounts, and historical context. Others are encountering headlines, slogans, or algorithms on social media that shift everything into sides – the oppressor and the oppressed. This is not just a disagreement — it’s a difference in what is known. Once the room named that, the tone shifted from correcting to curiosity.
How do we learn together if we are not starting from the same place?
The power & need for conversations
No one needed to leave with identical opinions. The power of the evening was in what became visible: fear that had been private became understood; double standards came into focus; and misunderstandings became bridgeable. When we sit together slowly, without rushing past discomfort, we make room for truth, empathy, and dignity. We replace isolation with support — and we remember that belonging is something we can build, on purpose, and together.
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