Dealing with the Deadly and Devastating Effects of Antisemitism

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Last week, I brought my son to Hebrew School at our synagogue. It was a Sunday morning like any other Sunday, except this week there were two police officers guarding the door. Police officers were there because the day before, on October 27th, 11 people in Pittsburgh were killed because they were Jewish. Because they arrived at Shabbat services on time. Because someone with access to weapons decided they must die.

Any time there is a mass shooting, my heart aches. I hug my children more often and a little closer. I formulate the words I am going to use to explain these horrors to them. I try to figure out a way to move on when I just want to huddle in the corner and cry. This incident hit home in a more personal way. Early in my career, I spent three years working at the Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh is a wonderful, tight-knit community, and I do not doubt that everyone in the Jewish community there knew at least one of the victims. My grandparents are Holocaust survivors. They knew firsthand what happens when antisemitism and nationalism take over a nation – when neighbors turn against neighbors. And I am a Jewish mother, raising children in a world where I still have to explain why there are people who hate us just because of our religion.

I thought twice about sending my son to Hebrew School on Sunday. Would it be safe? Would he be startled by the police presence? Would he be scared? Ultimately, I decided he had to attend. Keeping him home might have made me feel better in the moment, but bowing down to fear is not a way to live life.

It is easy to feel helpless when something happens in your community, your state, your country. When you feel helpless, it is much easier to sit back and do nothing, wallowing in your sadness and fear. However, I have been thinking a lot about a quote I heard years ago. When I was in college I went to hear Elie Wiesel, the noted author and Holocaust survivor, speak. He said, “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” Sitting back and doing nothing will not make the world a better place for my children or yours. So what can we do? Donate to an organization fighting hatred. Volunteer your time to help your community or another community in need. Attend a vigil or rally to show support for a cause you believe in. VOTE!! And even as you hold your kids a little closer, do not let fear win.

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Sara
Sara is a native Long Islander who has managed to shed much of the accent, but cannot get rid of her love of a good New York bagel, the Mets, and a decent pastrami sandwich. She moved to Providence in 2001, with stops along the way living in upstate New York, Baltimore, Washington, DC, and Pittsburgh. Sara has two fantastic, funny kids – a 14-year-old daughter and an 10-year-old son – who attend Providence Public Schools. She graduated from Cornell University with a degree in Psychology and has her Masters in Social Work from the University of Maryland at Baltimore. These degrees have served her well in her career working as a fundraiser (currently as the Chief Development Officer at the Jewish Alliance of Greater RI) and in her home life negotiating détente between her kids. In her copious amounts of spare time, Sara enjoys going to a museum or the theater, reading, listening to 80s music, cooking and piling everyone in the car for a day trip. She also admits to a love of funny and occasionally sophomoric movies and has been known to recite entire scenes from Monty Python or Mel Brooks. She tries to find the humor in all things which is necessary when juggling a household with two kids and a full time job. Her attitude can be summed up by a print she saw at Frog and Toad: When life hands you lemons, try to figure out something to do with those lemons.