Jews must ask themselves why this keeps happening.

This isn’t about Gaza. It never was.

Israel is not the reason we are being attacked in the Diaspora. It is the reason we have somewhere else to go when we are. (photo: Phoebe T/Unsplash)

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On a quiet Sunday in Boulder, Colorado, a small group of Jewish activists gathered for a peaceful demonstration.

They came together, not for protest or provocation, but to call for the release of hostages being held by Hamas in Gaza for 600-plus days. It was the kind of gathering we’ve seen in dozens of cities across the world since October 7th: modest, somber, moral.

And then someone threw a Molotov cocktail at them.

Eight elderly Jews between the ages of 67 and 88 were wounded in what the FBI is now investigating as an act of terrorism. The images are horrifying. But the implications are worse. Because once again, Jews in the Diaspora must ask ourselves: Why does this keep happening?

We already know the reflexive answer — the one meant to shut down conversation before it begins: “Because of the conflict in Gaza.” Or: “Because Israel is at war.” But Jews who think clearly and historically know better. It didn’t begin with Gaza. It didn’t begin with Benjamin Netanyahu or Israel’s “Right-wing government.” It didn’t even begin with Israel.

This is what happens when Jewish life outside of Israel becomes dependent on conditional approval from the societies Jews live in. This is what happens when we confuse assimilation with safety. This is what happens when we believe the lie that, if we just distance ourselves from the “bad Jews,” the bombs won’t reach our doorstep.

For decades, Jews in Boulder and Berkeley and Brooklyn (and many other liberal cities across the West) have lived with the comforting illusion that they are insulated because they are “progressive,” peace-loving, even proudly critical of Israel. That antisemitism is mostly a thing of the past, or if not, a thing for other kinds of Jews. That, in the United States, or Canada, or Europe, or Australia, they could protest the bad parts of Israel, emphasize their “social justice” credentials, and live free from fear.

But Molotov cocktails do not check for political nuance. They do not distinguish between kinds of Jews. They are thrown at Jews.

And perhaps most disturbing of all is what didn’t happen next. Where were the think pieces? The viral hashtags? The solidarity marches? Six elderly Jews were nearly burned alive in America — and the country moved on like nothing happened.

When Jewish visibility becomes a liability, you are no longer living in a pluralistic society. You are living in a society where Jews are tolerated only when invisible. That is not inclusion. That is exile wearing a “progressive” mask.

This latest attack was not an isolated incident. It was part of a now-familiar pattern: Synagogues defaced. Jewish students harassed. Professors fired. Small business owners boycotted. Young professionals murdered. Grandmothers firebombed.

These are not attacks on “Zionists.” These are attacks on Jews — on Jewish presence, on Jewish dignity, on Jewish continuity. And, if they make you afraid, that fear is not paranoia. It is perception. You are not witnessing the rise of antisemitism. You are witnessing the fall of the mask that once hid it.

When six elderly Jews are firebombed on American soil and the country doesn’t stop to scream in horror, it should tell us everything we need to know about the moral currency of Jewish pain in today’s society.

Let’s stop pretending. There is a new social contract being written for Diaspora Jews: You may be Jewish, but only if you apologize for Israel. You may grieve, but only if your grief is “balanced.” You may speak, but only if you echo the approved narrative. Anything more and you will be made a target.

To add insult to injury, Jews now find themselves abandoned by the very coalitions we helped build — coalitions we funded, staffed, and believed in. Today, those coalitions chant for “globaziging the intifada” (or make excuses for those who do). They organize walkouts against Jewish professors. They dismiss dead Israelis as unfortunate but “complicated.”

The coalitions we helped build have collapsed under the weight of a single inconvenient truth: that Jews are not universally oppressed, not always powerless, and not willing to disappear for the sake of someone else’s revolution. In exchange for silence, we are offered nothing but a clearer view of who our friends are not.

So, again, we must ask: Why does this keep happening?

It happens because too many Jews have forgotten what exile means. That it is not simply a matter of geography; it is a condition of vulnerability. It is believing that, if we are quiet enough, moral enough, apologetic enough, we will be accepted.

It happens because we built beautiful institutions and thriving communities — and assumed that history wouldn’t catch up to us. We forgot that Jewish safety has always required more than interfaith brunches and Holocaust education weeks.

It happens because too many of us still believe that Jewish identity must be negotiated through the approval of others, rather than rooted in strength, pride, and sovereignty.

And it happens because we’ve allowed antisemitism to be laundered through the language of “social justice.” Wrapped in euphemisms like “anti-Zionism” or “decolonization,” we’re told that violence against Jews is “resistance,” and Jewish fear is an overreaction.

They say they are protesting an “occupation.” But the only thing the Jews in Boulder were occupying was a sidewalk. What do you call it when every form of Jewish presence is treated like a provocation? Not politics. Prejudice.

We cannot fight firebombs with brunch panels. If we don’t build stronger Jewish hearts, tighter Jewish communities, and bolder Jewish commitments, we will keep paying for our softness with bruises. Or worse.

Let’s be clear: Antisemitism isn’t just hate. It’s a story, a narrative, a worldview. In it, Jews are always guilty of being too rich or too poor, too visible or too hidden, too assimilated or too clannish. When Jews are powerless, they are mocked. When Jews defend themselves, they are monstrous. No matter what we do, we play the villain in someone else’s imagination.

This story has no chapter in which the Jews are innocent, which is why we must stop trying to earn innocence in the eyes of people who have already written the ending.

Many Jews assumed that October 7th would be a turning point; that the world would finally understand; that the slaughter of babies, the burning of families, the rape of women would bring some moral clarity. Instead, it brought silence, deflection, and denial.

Many Jews in the Diaspora still believe that if Israel just did things differently, we wouldn’t be in this mess. But this is backwards. Israel didn’t cause antisemitism. It was created because of it. Israel is not the reason we are being attacked in Boulder. It is the reason we have somewhere else to go when we are.

Zionism isn’t a political position. It’s a survival strategy. And the more the world tries to isolate Israel, the clearer it becomes: A sovereign Jewish state is not just our pride, it is our parachute.

When our elderly are firebombed for asking terrorists to release hostages, that is not a sign that Jewish advocacy for Israel has gone too far. It is a sign that the West’s tolerance for Jewish life is again thinning.

We do not need to abandon our societies, but we do need to stop deluding ourselves. The condition of exile has never been fully safe. It has merely been quiet. And now it is getting louder.

Our ancestors in Berlin thought they were German enough. Our cousins in Baghdad thought they were Arab enough. And our friends in Boulder probably thought they were American enough. History is not subtle. It whispers before it screams.

It is time to reimagine what it means to be a Diaspora Jew. It is time to double down on unapologetic Jewish identity, not one that hides behind universalism, but one that is grounded in Jewish values, Jewish peoplehood, and Jewish self-respect. It is time to teach our children not just how to be liked, but how to be strong. It is time to stop seeking safety by shrinking, and start demanding safety by standing.

Jewish community centers, synagogues, Hillels, and foundations — this is your wake-up call. Are you equipping your communities for the world as it is, or for the one you wish it still was?

We must confront another sobering truth: Many of the Jews most vulnerable to antisemitic ideas today are also those most poorly educated in Jewish history, values, and identity.

We gave them Jewish pride without Jewish knowledge, “Tikkun Olam” without Torah, Zionism without Zion. Is it any wonder they walk away when the pressure rises? A Jewish identity built on slogans will collapse under fire. A Jewish identity built on memory will not.

We must also stop responding to violence with victimhood theater: endless statements, hashtags, press releases. These do not keep us safe. They do not rebuild what was shattered.

We do not need more press releases. We do not need another #EndJewHatred hashtag. We need strategy. We need courage. We need a generation of Jews who are unafraid to defend their future, not because they are victims, but because they are heirs to a 3,000-year-old mission.

Hence, the Jewish future must begin with truth: the truth of our history, the truth of our vulnerability, the truth of what it will take to survive and thrive. Our grandparents taught us that to be Jewish is to be moral. It’s time we remember: To be Jewish is also to be brave. Our future will not be secured by being more likable. It will be secured by being more Jewish.

Jewish fear is understandable. Jewish silence is not. Not anymore.

We will not disappear. We will not cower. We will not let our grandparents be firebombed while we whisper apologies. Jewish history is long. Jewish memory is sharp. And Jewish survival is not an accident; it is an act of will. Let us make it one we choose, together.

If we want to stop asking “why this keeps happening,” we must start answering: What kind of Jews do we want to be the next time it does?

Because, if six elderly Jews can be firebombed in Boulder, Colorado for holding up signs that say “Bring Them Home,” the era of denial is far beyond over. The question is not what our neighbors, friends, and colleagues will do next. The question is what we will.

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