It’s been five months since I took on the role of Jewish Journal editor. In that short time, I have been able to share heartwarming stories — on everything from senior women who finally got a chance to be bat mitzvah to the recounting of a local man’s inspiring Holocaust survival. I’ve been introduced to leaders in our community and Jews who wake up every day hoping to make South Florida a better place for all of us.
But I have also seen the worst of it. I have scrolled through social media to see a college student openly denying the Holocaust, saying that “6 million Jews is simply propaganda.” I have witnessed my own neighborhood welcoming a Proud Boy, who openly calls for the extinction of the Jewish people, to speak in my community without a second look. I have read about every single act of antisemitism occurring around our nation, from threats at a JCC in Texas that caused children to miss out on summer camp to a brick painted with “Free Palestine” thrown into the window of a Boston-area kosher grocery store. It can make you feel that as Jews, we live in a bubble that is constantly trying to be popped, stabbed and obliterated.
Antisemitism is not a new concept — Jews have been hated since the beginning of time. We have been persecuted, exiled, shunned and murdered, simply for our beliefs. I grew up in a blissful time in the early 2000s where we felt as though the world was coming around to the idea of Jews. But behind that bliss, the hatred was still there, sitting at the surface and waiting to break free.
In this age of social media, it sometimes feels too much to bear. It’s impossible for me to open TikTok or Instagram and not be inundated with hate speech. Jews are constantly trying to explain, to reason, to help people understand that they don’t have the full story — but it falls on deaf ears. All some people see is an opportunity to be open about their disdain toward Jews. It’s an opportunity far too many have jumped on.
And worse, that hate speech is multiplied by the silence. I have always been an active proponent for all. I have marched in rallies for gay rights. I donate every month to women’s rights. I have called people out for racism, for bigotry, and for all forms of hate. But where are those people now, when the hate is geared toward me? Why are those friends who post incessantly about every cause, about every injustice, suddenly silent when the injustice is toward Jews? Where were they after Jews were beheaded, raped and murdered on Oct. 7, 2023?
While so many of these acts and so many of the faceless commenters on social media are trying to bring our community down, all they have succeeded in doing is to bring us closer together.
My husband was recently riding home from the airport in an Uber. He texted me that he “had a feeling his driver may be Jewish,” but since he was delivering him to our front step, where our two young children were soundly asleep, he felt wary about bringing it up. How dangerous, he thought, if he were wrong. Toward the end of the drive, he got the courage to say something, casually mentioning being Jewish. His driver pulled into our driveway, got out of the car, and gave my husband a hug. “My brother, I wish you had told me that at the beginning,” he said.
We shouldn’t be afraid, especially here in America, to let someone know who we are. We shouldn’t be afraid to attend Jewish events, or to rally for the safe return of hostages, worried that someone may burn us alive with Molotov cocktails. My daughters shouldn’t think that having armed guards at the doors of their preschool is normal. I shouldn’t have to worry every day when I drop them off. And the only way for us to not be afraid is to be proud. To wear our Stars of David around our necks. To attend events, together, and stand tall and stand strong. To celebrate our faith and our persistence. We have been hated before, and we will be hated again. But one thing we can always count on is each other.
My grandfather, a World War II veteran with three Purple Hearts, changed his name from Weckstein to Weston after returning home from the war. He wanted to assimilate. He wanted to be treated the same as his counterparts in business. But he never got rid of his faith. He never abandoned being Jewish.
I understand his motives. I, too, have taken off my Star of David necklace when I knew I’d be judged for it. But no longer. No longer will we change our names, or remove our jewelry. The Jews of today stand up for themselves and for each other. We break through the hate and stay true to what we know is right. When the world rallies against us, we get stronger. Just as our ancestors did.
Since I became editor, I have seen some of the worst of the world, but I have seen the very best of the Jewish community. And as I write this today, I have never been more proud to be a Jew. Am Yisrael Chai.
Jewish Journal editor Jessica Tzikas can be reached at jtzikas@sunsentinel.com.
