By Liat O.S.
When I was met with questions from my neighbors right after 10/7, while I was still trying to mourn, trying to piece together the puzzle of who I used to be, and desperately searching for reasons to wake up in the morning, I still held on to hope in humanity. Not humanity as an abstract whole, but in individuals. The people I know, and those I might yet know. I believed they were human beings with values, empathy, and care.
When I started Building Community Thru Conversation (BCTC), a vessel for the meaningful conversations that must happen if we are to push back against hate, lies, and destruction, I believed in people. In my friends, my neighbors, my community. Not in everyone, because some have lost their moral compass, confusing righteousness with virtue, truth with trends, and critical thinking with indoctrination. Too often, real research has been replaced by biased and distorted materials from unreliable sources.
Hate was not theoretical. It was happening close to home.
I saw those personas up close. I feared them. I despised what they represented. I encountered them at a so-called teach-in for children right here in Decatur, activists calling themselves educators, feeding lies and fabricated narratives to young minds while parents stood by and encouraged it. That was three years ago. It did not begin there, and it did not end there.
At the very beginning, three years ago, instead of avoiding confrontation as I once would have, I tried explaining facts, history, and nuance to people online. That experiment failed. Online spaces are largely broken and not worth our time. I still believe deeply in in-person conversation, though even there some discussions are doomed from the start. Loud voices are just loud. They are not necessarily representative.
Most people are like you, my friends and neighbors, real people with good hearts. And it is you I want to invest my energy in. You are who I want to talk to. I do not need much, just some of your time. I believe in you and I believe in us. I was raised to believe in coexistence, in striving for peace, and in kindness.
I believed, and still believe, that people will listen. Not everyone, but some. Some will understand, or at least ask genuine questions with the intention of hearing the answers and forming their own conclusions. Some may even help us, Jews, feel less alone. Some may stand beside us. It does not have to be loud. It can be voting, signing a petition, joining a group, or simply choosing to be an ally.
This is not abstract fear. Fear and actual violence are now normalized.
Jewish communities are forced to protect themselves. Jewish organizations and leaders must hire their own security. This is not a new reality, but it is one that exists for no other race, ethnicity, or religion as a routine condition of gathering, learning, or simply existing, whether in synagogues, community centers, daycares, or schools. This has become normalized, the threat of attack and now the attacks themselves, often without broad communal concern and often without adequate response from authorities.
This is true in Decatur, in New York, in Los Angeles, in Paris, in Manchester. Anywhere you can think of. No place is immune. All destinations. All five continents. Every single day, you hear of a hateful, violent incident. Not a separate or isolated event, but usually more than one a day, unfolding across the world.
Hatred has moved into the mainstream, and Jews are caught in the middle.
Each of us, Jew and non-Jew alike, is already carrying the weight of life. Finances, health, parenting, work, school, family tensions. The endless balancing act between survival and joy, comfort and responsibility. Our lives are full, and the world has taken turns we could not have imagined. Since 2020, we have endured a global pandemic. Then came 10/7 for Jews. And all around us, other horrific events continue to unfold. Add to that political chaos and deep polarization.
People do not just disagree anymore. They hate. Families are torn apart over opinions and beliefs. Extremism grows on all sides, and disturbingly those extremes often converge in one place, hatred of Jews. Conspiracy theories flourish. Blame is recycled and redirected toward Jews.
Life is already full. We know this is a big ask: carrying the world’s problems.
It is understandable that not everyone has the bandwidth to take a stand, even momentarily. But it is desperately needed. Jewish resilience has carried us through history, but we never survived alone. We had help, and we need it now. Even the smallest acts matter.
Choosing to meet halfway, one-on-one, in conversation, not online debate.
When we started BCTC, we thought our role was to bring truth, curiosity, and interest to non-Jews. But we quickly realized something else. Jews sitting in intimate living rooms also needed to witness transformation, the quiet “I did not know” moment followed by “tell me more.” It goes both ways. Jews want to understand non-Jews too. Through listening, sharing personal stories, and sitting with discomfort, we grow closer. We feel less awkward. We begin to belong.
We created that space. We hold events almost every month. People come and go. Hearts open. Minds stretch. It is hard to ask people to commit to this heaviness. It is even harder to ask them to return. But we hear the ripple effects. People reading more thoughtfully, consuming better and more intentional media, sharing responsibly, gently adding context and truth into conversations.
An effortless press of a button, and a window opens to let light in.
Being present for a fellow community member can uplift someone’s immediate feelings and even change the course of their day, or create an impact that lasts far longer. It gives strength, which we very much need too. If you can lend a shoulder, it eases some of the pain. If you can lend a hand that writes, a leg that walks alongside us, it lightens the burden.
Still Believing, Still Hoping to Hear Back from You
I still believe in people. Not blindly, not abstractly, and not without disappointment (I have had my share of hurt, as my friends have too), but deliberately—by choice, with open eyes, and despite everything I have seen. Believing in people means risking that disappointment again and again, yet it also means choosing belonging over isolation and hope over retreat. I believe there is still space for decency, for courage, for showing up for one another. I hold on to that belief because without it there is no path forward, and with it there remains a chance, however fragile, for humanity to choose better and make the world more kind and more human.
You, reading this, are part of this too.
Did something here stay with you? Did it make you want to understand more or participate? Are there conversations you wish you could have but don’t quite know how to begin? If so, reach out. Make time. Come sit in conversation with us or host one in your own space.
If you are part of an organization, a workplace, a congregation, a school, a book club, or any community where people already gather or where you can bring a group together, let’s collaborate. We can create a single conversation, a series shaped to your community’s needs, or explore other ideas together. We bring the program and the tools that continue beyond the event itself. We are part of this community, and so are you.
If you know someone who might be a good fit, please share their contact with us.
It’s easy to reach us. We’re around, and you can always connect through our website at https://bctctalks.org/contact-us/.
A snapshot from our BCTC website homepage that reflects what we do and what we offer. Visit us, and we welcome your feedback:
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