People sometimes tell me I’m brave for speaking openly against antisemitism. I understand the compliment. My experience is different. I speak because I’m afraid of what happens when people see hostility growing around Jews and decide that silence is easier.
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I’m a father. My children will inherit part of the culture my generation is shaping now. When adults tolerate intimidation because confronting it carries a social cost, children learn from that choice. They learn which identities are safe to show, which opinions are safer to hide, and which rooms require them to make themselves smaller.
For much of my life, I’ve been trained to recognize threats before they fully develop. As a soldier, you learn to notice the detail that doesn’t fit. Waiting until everyone agrees that a threat is obvious can leave you reacting after the situation has already changed. That instinct stays with me when I teach self-defense and when I look at what is happening around Jews in America.
Jewish students are intimidated on campuses. Synagogues are targeted. American Jews are treated as representatives of the Israeli government and pressured to denounce Israel before they are accepted in certain political spaces. Hostility can be excused as activism when the target is Jewish, and the language is wrapped in the vocabulary of social justice. Each incident deserves its own facts. Repetition still tells us something about the environment.
For more than two decades, I’ve taught people how to protect themselves. One of the most dangerous habits I see is negotiating with warning signs. People sense that something is wrong, then search for an explanation that allows them to delay action. They worry about overreacting, misreading the situation, or appearing unreasonable. Delay can give a threat more room.
The same hesitation appears in public life. Americans have become increasingly reluctant to make plain moral judgments when doing so might offend a powerful political coalition. Context helps us understand events, and it becomes dangerous when it is used to avoid naming obvious intimidation and hatred.
I believe in free speech. People should be able to criticize Israel, protest wars, argue about settlements, challenge American foreign policy, and say things I strongly disagree with. However, a free society requires that space and the confidence to recognize when criticism of a government turns into collective hostility toward Jews.
Self-defense has taught me something useful about peace. People sometimes ask whether someone committed to peace should train in Krav Maga. My answer is yes. Peace is more durable when you can protect yourself if another person chooses violence. Refusing to prepare can leave your safety entirely in someone else’s hands.
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We often teach children never to hit first, and adults must exercise judgment, too. Importantly, though, in self-defense, intent, ability, distance, and behavior can make a threat clear before the first blow lands. In some situations, it can be lawful and necessary to strike first in self-defense because waiting for physical confirmation can leave you reacting too late.
The civic lesson is about timing. We don’t need to wait for violence before challenging hatred. We can object while hostile language is becoming familiar, stand beside a Jewish student while intimidation is being defended as activism, and reject political loyalty tests imposed on Jews.
Silence is attractive because most of its cost is delayed. You may keep the friendship, the invitation, the business relationship, and your place in the room. The environment shaped by repeated silence is passed forward.
I think about that as a father. I want my children to walk through New York wearing a Star of David without studying the room first. I want them to speak openly about being Jewish without being asked to explain the decisions of a foreign government. I want them to grow up in an America confident enough in its own principles to protect people who are being singled out.
Speaking publicly has consequences. I’ve received threats. Relationships have changed. Some people decide you are inconvenient. I accept those costs because I would have a harder time living with the knowledge that I saw the direction clearly and chose comfort.
That is why the word brave never feels quite right to me. My calculation is practical. I know what I’m afraid of losing. I’m afraid of a country where Jews gradually learn that being less visible makes life easier. I’m afraid of institutions that become so frightened of political pressure that obvious standards become negotiable. Most of all, I’m afraid of looking back and realizing that we recognized the warning signs and kept waiting for something worse. That fear tells me to speak.
Do something amazing.
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