By Liat O
All God’s Children shows what honest Black–Jewish relationship-building can accomplish. It also shows what happens when the Jewish story is heard only partially—and Jewish pain is asked to make room for everyone else before it is fully understood.
“Notice where there are differences, perhaps unequal standards for expressing hurt, anger, pain, and fear.”
—From the screening introduction
The Story, My Review of All God’s Children
The Story
All God’s Children,, directed by Ondi Timoner, follows Rabbi Rachel Timoner of Congregation Beth Elohim and Reverend Dr. Robert Waterman of Antioch Baptist Church as they bring their Jewish and Black congregations together in Brooklyn. The film does not present the relationship as easy, polished, or complete. The congregations enter one another’s sacred spaces, share traditions, travel together, argue, cause pain, bring in an outside facilitator, and repeatedly choose not to walk away.
The relationship eventually moves beyond dialogue. When members of Antioch describe deed theft—the theft of homes, security, history, and generational wealth from Black families—the Jewish congregation listens. Together, the communities call legislators, travel to Albany, and help change the law. The film therefore offers more than an argument for allyship. It shows what allyship can look like when one community describes what it needs and another uses its access, relationships, and influence to help.
That achievement is real, and it is why the film matters. Yet the same film also reveals an imbalance. Black history and present-day Black concerns are given context: slavery, segregation, racism, policing, inequality, gentrification, deed theft, and the central role of the Black church. The Jewish story is presented more narrowly—through religion, the Holocaust, older forms of antisemitism, vandalism against a synagogue, and Israel mainly as a political controversy.
I kept waiting for the rest of that story: Jews as a living and diverse people; Jewish peoplehood beyond religious observance; the personal and historical meaning of Israel; the contemporary machinery of antisemitism; and the fear, trauma, and danger experienced by Jews and Israelis after October 7. The film asks what it means to remain in relationship across difference.
The bridge must be strong enough to carry both communities’ full stories—not only the parts that are most familiar or easiest for the other side to accept.
My Review of All God’s Children
I admired All God’s Children. I loved its honesty, warmth, music, culture, and willingness to show conflict without cleaning it up for the audience. I loved the energy of Antioch—the singing, dancing, acting, movement, and spirit—and the way members brought that spirit into the shared Passover celebration. I was moved by people who hurt one another, became defensive, returned to the table, and promised, “We will not walk away.” Most of all, I admired that the relationship produced concrete action against deed theft.
My criticism comes from believing in the film’s project, not rejecting it. The film generally allowed Black participants to describe their history, pain, and present-day concerns without immediately redirecting the conversation elsewhere. The Jewish story, especially after October 7, was treated differently. Jewish and Israeli pain was quickly reframed through whiteness, the Israeli government, and Palestinian suffering before it was fully heard on its own terms.
I respect the filmmaker’s choices and understand that no film can tell every part of every story. But once the film chose to address Jewish identity, antisemitism, Israel, October 7, and Palestinian suffering, some context became indispensable. Presenting one community’s story in depth while leaving Jewish peoplehood, history, danger, and lived experience largely unexplained creates an imbalance. I see the consequences firsthand in my work: incomplete and distorted stories shape how people understand Jews and Israelis, and that misunderstanding can cause real harm.
The problem was not that Christians told the story of Jesus or expressed beliefs I do not share. I did, however, have one specific concern: the image of a visibly Jewish man laughing while Jesus was tortured and killed—and what a child might learn from that image without anyone intending to teach hatred. Beyond that scene, the broader problem was that the film treated Jewish identity mainly as religion and historical victimhood, leaving Jewish peoplehood and the living Jewish relationship to Israel only partly explained.
That omission became most serious after October 7. Palestinian suffering is real and deserves sustained moral attention. But the massacre, the hostages, the continuing attacks, Hamas’s ideology and strategy, the longer history of the conflict, and the worldwide consequences for Jews received less context than Israel’s response. The effect was not simply incomplete history. It reproduced a familiar pattern in which Jews may speak about danger only after explaining, balancing, and defending themselves.
That is not only incomplete and unfair; it is dangerous. Misinformation about Jews and Israelis does not remain only language. It creates permission to exclude, harass, attack, and ultimately kill us.
The deed-theft campaign provides the film’s best answer to its own unfinished work. Real relationship asks, “What do you need?” and then acts. Jewish communities must recognize and clearly express what we actually need. I do not mean only protecting Judaism as a religion. We need accurate education about Jews, Israel, Zionism, and antisemitism; protection for Jewish students and civil rights; resistance to conspiracies and misinformation before they become violence; and recognition that Jews are a living people connected through ancestry, ethnicity, history, culture, family, and peoplehood—with the right to safety, self-definition, and a future.
Our partners should be invited to stand with us as concretely as Jewish participants stood with their Black neighbors. Who will organize for our safety around the world and in Israel, defend our civil rights and our right to tell our own story, and demand education that does not demean us, blame us collectively, or make others hostile toward us? Will there be action not only to fund security or pass protective laws after we are attacked, but also to confront the lies that endanger us and defend our fundamental right to exist and have a future?
The central argument of this review is simple: I believe in the bridge. But a bridge is not reciprocal if one community arrives with its full history while the other is reduced to religion, memory, and political defense.
In This Article
- What the Film Gets Right
- The Problem Was Not Their Religion
- Who Are the Jews?
- The Jewish Story Is Not Only About the Past
- Why Must Jewish Pain Always Be Balanced?
- We Are Not Goliath Simply Because We Learned to Be Strong
- Racism and Antisemitism Are Connected, but They Are Not Identical
- The Deed-Theft Campaign and the Question of Reciprocity
- Questions for Jewish Organizations and Our Own Community
- The Questions I Would Ask Them Directly
- Why I Still Believe in the Bridge
1. What the Film Gets Right
I watched All God’s Children and had two reactions at the same time: I loved so much of it, and I kept waiting for the rest of the Jewish story. I loved that it was real. Nobody was perfect or always said the right thing. People got hurt, became defensive, came back, tried again, and promised, “We will not walk away.”
As Rabbi Timoner said in the post-film interview:
“The truth about us and between us was worth telling, even if it made us look bad.”
That honesty made the film feel real rather than staged.
I am interested in culture and in how people express who they are. I loved the culture, spirit, and energy of the Black church—the music, dancing, movement, flags, acting, and the feeling of life in the room. I loved hearing members of Antioch sing in their own church and seeing them bring that spirit into the shared Passover celebration. I also thought the Easter performance was powerful and the acting was well done. I could appreciate its energy and conviction without sharing the same religious beliefs. That is what I want from a real relationship: not a carefully edited version of another community, but the opportunity to see people as they are and understand what matters to them.
Most of all, I loved that the relationship became more than conversation. The congregations worked together against deed theft, helped families protect their homes, called lawmakers, went to Albany, and helped change the law. That is real allyship. They did not simply say, “We see you.” They asked, “What do you need?” and then helped do it.
The film shows the power of conversation, but it also shows what happens when the Jewish story is not fully presented. Jewish leaders and organizations are too often failing to represent the full Jewish story themselves—presenting us mainly through religion, the Holocaust, or our support for other communities, while hiding or softening Jewish peoplehood, our connection to Israel, and the real danger facing living Jews.
2. The Problem Was Not Their Religion
The rabbi was angry and offended by the Easter performance. I was not. Her response sometimes felt too confident—almost as though she was unintentionally speaking from above and correcting the Black congregation’s religion instead of making enough room for it.
I do not have a problem with Christians believing in Jesus or telling his story. I am Jewish, Israeli-born, and not religious, and I am secure enough in my identity to make room for their faith without sharing it. I appreciated that they invited the Jewish congregation into their church and showed them their real worship. I loved the music, dancing, acting, life, and spirit they brought into the room, and I thought the Easter performance was powerful and well performed. I do not want a carefully edited version of another community’s religion designed only to avoid making me uncomfortable.
My concern was much more specific: the portrayal of a man visibly dressed as a Jew laughing while Jesus was tortured and killed. One Jewish participant said:
“I very much felt that you pointed fingers.”
I understand why the Christian declaration that nonbelievers will be damned was also painful, but for me, the most serious problem was not that Christianity includes beliefs I do not share. It was the image of the Jew laughing while Jesus suffered.
The accusation that “the Jews killed Jesus” has been used for centuries to justify hatred, persecution, and murder. But my concern was not only whether the Jewish adults in the room felt offended. I kept thinking about the Black children watching. A child who does not know the history may simply see a Jewish person laughing while Jesus suffers and leave believing that Jews were the bad people who wanted him dead.
The congregation may not have intended that message or realized the image was problematic, but that is precisely why it needed to be discussed. Antisemitism is not always taught by someone openly telling children to hate Jews. It can be learned through stories and images that quietly teach them who the heroes and villains are. Those impressions may prepare children to believe antisemitic messages they later encounter online, at school, in the media, or on the street.
I am not asking Christians to remove Jesus from their story or hide their beliefs. I am grateful that the congregation shared its faith openly. As Rabbi Timoner said:
“Your story is based in part on our story, but our story stops and doesn’t continue on in your story.”
That difference will not disappear.
The goal is not to erase religious differences, but to allow both communities to tell their stories without teaching the next generation to hate or target the other.
3. Who Are the Jews?
Dara Horn recently spoke on a podcust with Haviv Rettig Gur about how American Jews were intentionally presented primarily as a religious group beginning in the 1940s, helping Jews fit into an American framework of Protestants, Catholics, and Jews. But something was lost in that rebranding. Americans learned about Judaism as a faith and the Holocaust as a tragedy, but not necessarily about Jews as a living people—with our cultures, families, history, peoplehood, connection to Israel, and need for a future.
Being Jewish is so much more than religion. Some Jews are religious; others are secular. Some believe in God, and some do not. We come from different countries, colors, languages, cultures, and traditions—Ashkenazi, Sephardi, Mizrahi, Ethiopian, Indian, Black, Latino, Asian, and more. We are a people with a religion, not only a religion. Jews who are not religious are still Jewish, and we have the same right as every other community—and every individual—to define who we are. This understanding of peoplehood is also essential to understanding Zionism beyond caricature.
The film gives meaningful space to Black history and present-day concerns, including racism, gentrification, deed theft, inequality, and the importance of the Black church. We see how the past continues into the present. Whether or not that tells the complete Black story, the Jewish story remains mostly religion, the Holocaust, antisemitic attacks, and then Israel as a political problem.
What is missing is the living Jewish story and our connection to Israel—not only politically, but personally and historically. Nearly half of the world’s Jews live there. Our families and friends live there. Our history is there. Israel is not just a government whose decisions Jews everywhere must defend or condemn. It is people. It is family. It is part of who we are, even when we disagree deeply with its government.
Jews are not merely the followers of a religion or the victims of a past tragedy. We are a living, diverse people with the right to define ourselves and have a future.
4. The Jewish Story Is Not Only About the Past
The larger problem in the film was not whether the rabbi felt angry or offended. It was that the Jewish story was still presented largely as a story of the past—religious persecution, the Holocaust, and old accusations against Jews. But our fear is not only about what happened before. It is about what is happening now and whether there will be a future for the Jewish people.
October 7 was a wake-up call that became a nonstop nightmare—or perhaps it woke many of us to the realization that the nightmare had never completely ended.
We watched people enter Israel to murder, torture, rape, burn families in their homes, and kidnap children, elderly people, and peace activists—the brutality itself used as psychological warfare to leave lasting trauma and provoke a prolonged war in which Hamas would use human shields while glorifying martyrdom and treating death for the cause as more sacred than protecting life. Hamas leaders themselves spoke of permanent war and repeating October 7. Palestinian suffering could then be turned against Israel and Jews everywhere. How is that not part of the story? (NATO Strategic Communications Centre, Wilson Center, Baker Institute)
Then we watched people celebrate. We watched the massacre questioned, excused, minimized, and immediately explained as something Israel had brought upon itself. We watched Jewish and Israeli victims disappear from the story while hostages were still being held underground. This was not only fear created by our history. It was fear created by what was happening in front of us—and by the reaction of the world. It was fear for our families, our children, Israel, Jews in America and elsewhere, and what happens when people once again decide that Jews are the enemy of humanity.
One scene captures the love created by the relationship. After the synagogue was vandalized, Reverend Waterman came and said:
“What affects you affects us. What hurts you hurts us.”
That moment showed that years of difficult conversation had created something real. But the Jewish story is bigger than a vandalized building. It is not only about graffiti, a swastika, or a security alarm at a synagogue.
The Jewish story is about the lives and future of the Jewish people. That is the story the film did not fully tell.
5. Why Must Jewish Pain Always Be Balanced?
In the film, as in the media, academia, schools, and the streets, Jewish and Israeli pain is quickly balanced with Palestinian suffering before our story is fully told. Palestinian suffering is real. Civilians and children should not die. But why must their suffering immediately become part of every moment in which Jews or Israelis speak about what is happening to us?
The film allows Black participants to discuss their history, fear, anger, inequality, gentrification, and deed theft without interrupting their pain to introduce another group’s. That is how it should be. Why are Jews not given the same space?
This is not only about fairness. Jews and Israelis are in real danger. We are being killed, attacked, and threatened in streets, schools, universities, and Jewish institutions around the world. We are being targeted. The danger is present. Our fear is not theoretical, inherited trauma making us overreact, or a memory exercise about the Holocaust. Language portraying Jews and Israelis as evil, bloodthirsty, colonial, dishonest, or enemies of humanity creates permission to exclude, harass, attack, and eventually justify our deaths. We have seen this process before. We are watching it happen again.
That is why it is so dangerous when Jewish pain is immediately questioned, qualified, or redirected. Before the world has fully recognized our dead, our hostages, and those still in danger, the conversation has already moved to what Jews and Israelis supposedly did to deserve it.
October 7 did not begin with Israel attacking Gaza. It began that day with Hamas and others invading Israel, murdering and kidnapping Israeli people. The larger conflict did not begin that morning either. Israelis had lived for years with rocket fire, terrorism, wars, failed negotiations, and movements committed to Israel’s destruction. You cannot begin the story with Israel’s response and call that context.
I kept waiting for someone to ask what October 7 meant in a country so small that almost everyone knew someone affected, or what it meant to Jews worldwide who watched people celebrate before the bodies were even identified and while hostages remained underground. What did it mean when hostages were still underground and the world was already asking Jews to apologize for surviving?
Why, when Jews speak about the enemies fighting against us, terrorism, antisemitism, or the fear of being targeted, must the conversation immediately turn to Palestinians and the Israeli government?
Black Americans are not expected to defend every action of the American government before speaking about racism. Why are Jews everywhere treated as representatives of an Israeli government, and Israelis as though they personally created every policy of their leaders? I do not need to defend every decision of that government, and I am not asking everyone to agree with it. I am asking people to first see the people.
Accept Israelis as victims when they are victims. Let Jews describe our fear without calling it political manipulation. Let our pain stand long enough to be understood before adding the “but.”
6. We Are Not Goliath Simply Because We Learned to Be Strong
Israel is often presented as Goliath because it has a military, a government, and power. But we are not Goliath simply because we learned to be strong. Jews learned what happens when we are scattered, dependent on the protection of others, and unable to defend ourselves. Israel has a military because the Jewish people learned that sometimes nobody comes.
Strength does not mean there is no threat, that our fear is false, or that the governments, terrorist organizations, and ideological movements committed to Israel’s destruction have disappeared. It should not turn us into the villains in somebody else’s story.
I can care about Palestinians, be horrified by the death of children, criticize the Israeli government, and question decisions made during the war. But none of that requires me to pretend that Israel wanted October 7, that Israelis had no reason to fight back, or that Hamas bears no responsibility for placing its own population in danger.
What exactly did people expect Israel to do? That question is rarely answered—or even asked. Was Israel expected to absorb the murder and kidnapping of its people, leave the hostages in Gaza, and prove its morality by refusing to act?
No one can know with certainty what the best response would have been. There is rarely a clear answer when a country is confronting an organization openly committed to its destruction, especially in a conflict this complex. But pretending there was a simple and painless solution is not serious. Did every decision advance Israel’s security or the return of the hostages? No response could protect Israelis, free the hostages, remove Hamas, and cause no harm to Palestinian civilians.
The hope is always for no war and no suffering. The people living through it on both sides are not winning; terrorist organizations are achieving their goals of deepening trauma, division, and hostility toward Israel and Jews.
That terrible reality should not be used to erase why the war began or what the citizens of Israel—Jews, Muslims, Christians, and others, all with equal rights as citizens—were and are still facing.
7. Racism and Antisemitism Are Connected, but They Are Not Identical
The film is built around racism and antisemitism. Both are connected forms of hatred, but they do not work in exactly the same way. Racism often begins with the belief that another group is inferior and should not be treated equally. It has been used to enslave, segregate, exploit, exclude, and target people with violence; to deny access to education, housing, employment, political power, and economic opportunity; and to deny people their dignity, freedom, and equal rights.
This distinction is central to BCTC’s work confronting Jew hatred, antisemitism, and misinformation.
Antisemitism can include that same discrimination and violence, but it also builds an entire story around Jews: that we are secretly powerful, dishonest, disloyal, manipulative, or responsible for whatever is wrong in society.
Jews can be blamed as both communists and capitalists, as outsiders who do not belong and as people secretly controlling the country. We can be described as weak and, at the same time, dangerously powerful. The accusation changes to fit the moment, but it leads to the same conclusion: Jews are a threat, so Jewish safety, self-defense, national existence, and sometimes Jewish life itself can be treated as illegitimate.
This is why antisemitism can be difficult to recognize. It does not always portray Jews as powerless victims; it portrays us as powerful villains. Then, when Jews try to protect themselves, that effort is used as further “proof” that the conspiracy was true.
This is not a competition between Black, Palestinian, Israeli, or Jewish suffering. One group’s pain does not have to become smaller for another group’s pain to be seen. But Jewish pain should not have to be balanced, explained, and justified before it is allowed to stand on its own.
8. The Deed-Theft Campaign and the Question of Reciprocity
The work against deed theft was inspiring, but it also left me curious. Deed theft is wrong. It is slimy. It steals a family’s home, history, security, and generational wealth. I do not oppose it only “as a Jew.” I oppose it as a human being.
The Jewish community did exactly what allies should do. They listened to Black people describe the problem without telling them what it really was or redirecting the conversation toward someone else’s suffering. They asked what would help and then used their voices, relationships, access, and political influence to help. When the law changed, both communities celebrated what they had accomplished together.
As the film observes:
“You can’t undo relationships.”
Laws can be weakened or reversed, but a real relationship changes the people inside it.
Yet that success also made me ask: What is the equivalent action for the Jewish community? Would the next film show both congregations demanding accurate education about Jews, Israel, Zionism, and antisemitism; defending Jewish students whose harassment is dismissed as political speech; supporting laws that protect Jewish communities; or confronting misinformation before it becomes accepted truth?
I work on education issues and see how much damage has already been done. Children are learning incomplete or inaccurate stories, teachers are not always given the history or tools they need, and social media fills the gaps. Instead of being taught how to examine sources and think critically, students are sometimes simply told what to think. By the time Jews try to correct the misinformation, we are treated as though we must have something to hide.
Near the end of the film, one participant promises:
“If you say to me, ‘You need me somewhere,’ I will be there.”
That is the promise I want to believe. But Jewish communities must also be willing to say clearly: We need you here—not only after the damage is done, but before it becomes permanent.
9. Questions for Jewish Organizations and Our Own Community
I have questions for Jewish organizations—and for our own community.
How We Define Ourselves: Why do we keep introducing ourselves mainly through religion and the Holocaust? Why do we teach people so much about dead Jews and so little about living Jews?
Israel and Jewish Identity: Why are we sometimes afraid to explain that Israel is part of Jewish identity because we worry it will make the conversation uncomfortable?
Recognizing the Real Problem: Why do we focus so much on fitting into other people’s frameworks instead of insisting that they understand who we actually are? Why do we respond to vandalism, harassment, exclusion, and violence without confronting the hatred, lies, and manipulated stories producing them? Protecting synagogues, supporting victims, and responding to individual incidents are necessary, but they address the consequences. We must also fight the hatred itself before it becomes another attack, another targeted child, or another reason Jews are told to hide.
Asking for What We Need: Why do we enter coalitions prepared to advocate for everyone else but hesitate to say clearly what we need?
Making Space for Jewish Pain: Why do we allow every conversation about Jewish pain to become a conversation about somebody else’s pain before our own story has been fully heard?
Reciprocity: We should fight racism because racism is wrong—not because we are buying future support. But a real relationship still requires reciprocity.
If we can stand beside our neighbors to protect their homes, our neighbors should be able to stand beside us to protect our children, our history, our safety, and our right to exist as a people.
10. The Questions I Would Ask Them Directly
To the Filmmaker, Ondi Timoner
The Missing Jewish Context: Why was the Black American story given extensive historical and present-day context, while the Jewish story was presented mainly through religion, the Holocaust, and past antisemitism? Where were Jewish peoplehood, Zionism, the Jewish connection to Israel, and the current danger facing living Jews?
October 7 and the War: The film could not include everything. But because it gave significant attention to Palestinian suffering and Israel’s response, leaving out the context needed to understand October 7 created an imbalance and did a disservice to the Jewish and Israeli story.
- Redirecting Jewish and Israeli Pain: Why was Jewish and Israeli pain after October 7 so quickly redirected toward Palestinians and the Israeli government?
- How the War Was Framed: The film introduced October 7 with the news report, “Israel has declared it is at war after a sudden, unprecedented and deadly surprise attack by Hamas this morning.” Although the line identified Hamas’s attack first, the story that followed quickly became centered on Israel’s war and response. Why was there no fuller account of the invasion, the hostages, the continuing attacks, and the trauma inflicted on all Israeli citizens—including Jews, Muslims, Christians, and others?
- The Missing History: Where was the history of wars, terrorism, rocket fire, intifadas, rejected partition and peace proposals, and failed attempts to reach a two-state solution?
- Hamas’s Ideology and Strategy: Where was Hamas’s ideology—its rejection of Israel’s existence, promises to repeat October 7, prolonged hostage-taking, use of civilian areas and human shields, and glorification of violence?
- The Unanswered Question: Why was Israel’s response examined without seriously asking what Israel was expected to do? Could any response have protected Israelis, freed the hostages, removed Hamas, and caused no harm to Palestinian civilians?
The Global Consequences: Why did the film not connect incomplete accounts of the war with the growing hostility toward Israel’s existence and toward Jewish students, families, and institutions worldwide?
The Jewish Story That Was Not Shown: Did you film material explaining the diversity of the Jewish people and what Israel means to Jews personally, historically, and as the home of approximately half the world’s Jewish population? If so, why was it not included?
What Comes Next: If you make another film, will you encourage these communities to take concrete action for Jewish safety, education, civil rights, and continued existence—whether through legislation, community initiatives, or partnerships with public officials, educators, and institutional leaders—comparable to what they accomplished together against deed theft?
To Reverend Waterman and the Black Participants
What You Learned: What did you come to understand about antisemitism through this relationship that you had not understood before?
The Jesus Story and Its Impact: Do you now understand differently the danger of blaming Jews for Jesus’s death? What might a Black child learn from seeing a visibly Jewish person laughing during the crucifixion, and how can Christians tell their sacred story without teaching children that Jews are villains—or people it is acceptable to hate and target?
Comparing Israel to America: When Israel’s actions in Gaza are compared to what America has done to Black Americans, where do Hamas, the hostages, Israeli fear, and the long history of attacks against Israel fit into that comparison?
Making Space for Jewish Pain: Why did Jewish and Israeli pain after October 7 have to be balanced so quickly with Palestinian suffering rather than first being allowed to stand and be fully heard?
Showing Up Beyond an Attack: You showed up after the synagogue was vandalized, and that mattered. What could showing up look like before or beyond an attack—through education, legislation, civil-rights enforcement, or support for Jewish students?
Reciprocal Action: The Jewish congregation listened, organized, and advocated against deed theft. What issue affecting Jews would you be willing to support just as publicly and concretely?
Understanding Israel: What does Israel mean to you now—not simply as a government, but as the home of half the world’s Jewish population and part of the identity, family, history, and survival of the Jewish people?
11. Why I Still Believe in the Bridge
In the post-film interview, director Ondi Timoner identified the central lesson:
“If you don’t walk away, you can then have a stronger partnership than ever.”
Rabbi Timoner added:
“How you do conflict matters.”
I agree with both. The film’s most powerful message is that people stayed. They had difficult conversations, hurt each other, came back, and built something real. I believe in that. It is the reason I do the work I do.
Conversation does not mean everyone agrees, every belief becomes the same, or every conflict disappears. It means I can hear your story without rewriting it into mine, and you can hear my story without immediately explaining why I am wrong.
I want the bridge this film is trying to build. I want Black and Jewish Americans to know each other, stand together, and act together. I want us to bring our full identities—not cleaned-up versions that are easier for the other side to accept. But the bridge must carry both stories.
I heard the Black story in this film. I felt it, learned from it, and watched the Jewish participants act on it. I am still waiting for the full Jewish story to be heard—not only our religion, the Holocaust, vandalism against a synagogue, or Israel as a government on trial. I mean us as a living people: our history, families, connection to Israel, fear, strength, mistakes, vulnerability, and determination to still be here.
We showed up to help protect our neighbors’ homes and will gladly show up again. Now I am asking: Who will show up with us? The Jewish story deserves the same space—not only because our stories should be treated equally, but because our lives depend on people understanding what is happening to us.
We are not asking the world to protect a memory. We are asking it to see and protect living Jews.
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