Antisemitism in America is not rising; it is exploding. The numbers are no longer warnings; they are alarms.
In 2024, nearly 70% of all religious hate crimes targeted Jews, though Jews make up just 2.4% of the population. The threat is unmistakable. The real scandal is the unwillingness of many of the very leaders entrusted to protect us to act with urgency or conviction.
A handful of Jewish leaders meet the moment with courage. However, far too many retreat into platitudes, issue statements only when shamed into it or wait for someone else to speak first. The collective response does not match the danger, not even remotely. And when leaders shrink, the community shrinks with them.
Far too many Jewish leaders, especially those in progressive coalitions, chase applause instead of responsibility. They preach tikkun olam and tzedek (“social justice”), B’tzelem Elohim (“in the image of God),” yet their loudest activism is reserved for secular issues that guarantee praise: climate, immigration, racial equity, LGBTQIA+ advocacy.
These are all worthy causes, but also convenient shields from the work that actually matters. They fit neatly into elite moral consensus, while antisemitism gets whatever scraps of attention remain. Some Jewish leaders now rally the community around what they call “immigration justice,” yet it is baffling that this same fervor is rarely directed toward confronting the far more immediate threat of Jew‑hatred.
Worse still, many of these secular causes are treated as morally uncomplicated, even when the consequences fall directly on the Jewish community. Take immigration: Numerous Jewish leaders embrace expansive policies as a matter of principle, invoking our history as strangers in a strange land. Their influence has caused far too many in the Jewish community to similarly embrace such policies. But they willfully ignore a harsh reality: Many immigrants have come to America from countries where anti-Western values are embraced and where virulent antisemitism is ingrained throughout society. Compassion does not require blindness.
Welcoming the stranger cannot mean welcoming the danger that comes along with it by importing the very hatreds that drove Jews out of both Europe and the Middle East, and that murdered millions of Jews over the centuries. The peril is not hypothetical; we are seeing the erosion of the Jewish community’s well-being. Despite this glaring reality, too many of our leaders still prefer the comfort of moral simplicity to the discomfort of asking who is entering our communities and what views they are bringing with them.
Meanwhile, antisemitism grows bolder and disturbingly normalized. Whether or not it has touched your own family, it is reshaping the environment in which all Jews live. The danger is no longer distant or abstract; it is becoming a defining feature of Jewish life in America.
A community under assault cannot afford leaders who look away. Not now. Not ever. That is not leadership. It is abandonment, and it is indefensible.
Fighting antisemitism and advocating for Israel requires courage—the kind that risks social capital, ruptures alliances and invites backlash. It means calling out hatred even when it comes from “allies.” It means confronting narratives that cast Jews as “oppressors” or “privileged,” narratives now used to justify excluding Jews from the protections afforded to every other minority. It means recognizing that attacks on Israel are often attacks on Jewish identity itself. When mobs chant “Death to Israel,” they’re not debating policy. They’re targeting Jews for extermination.
Some leaders pretend to do this work, but their efforts are timid compared to the energy they pour into secular causes. If your first instinct is to check how your allies will react before defending Jews, then you have already failed the people you claim to represent. You are a leader in name only.
The consequences are immediate and personal. Jewish students face harassment on campus. Jewish children encounter hostility in public schools. Synagogues require armed guards. Ordinary Jews now alter their daily routines in ways unthinkable just a few years ago. A mezuzah should be a declaration of pride; today, it is treated like a liability. A kippah should be a symbol of faith; on too many campuses, it has become a target. These are not abstractions; they are the lived consequences of leadership that refuses to confront the sources of antisemitism with clarity and conviction.
Our ancestors did not survive pogroms, expulsions and centuries of hatred so that we would shrink in the face of social discomfort. Jewish survival has never been guaranteed. It has always depended on Jews who refused to bow.
Meeting this moment is not optional. It is the minimum required of anyone who claims to lead.
It means issuing unambiguous public statements; cutting ties with groups that tolerate antisemitism; and redirecting resources toward security, advocacy and education. It means building long‑term infrastructure—coalitions with other minority communities, training a new generation of Jewish advocates and ensuring that every major Jewish institution has a real plan for confronting antisemitism. And it means making Jewish well‑being a top priority.
This is not parochialism. It is the first duty of any community that intends to survive.
We are a people who have outlasted every empire that sought to erase us. History is watching what we do now. This is not a moment for bowed heads. It is a moment for standing, speaking and fighting—together, for our children, community and the Jewish future. And here is the irony: Jews in America have more resources and influence than our ancestors could have imagined, yet too many Jewish leaders behave as though we are still powerless. Strength without courage is just another form of surrender.
