Carrying the Weight: Being Jewish in a World That Still Hates Us
There’s a quiet grief I carry; the kind that doesn’t always have words but settles in the chest every time another headline flashes across my screen. Another synagogue vandalized. Another celebrity spewing antisemitic tropes. Another comment, another slur, another reminder.
I’m Jewish. And lately, that feels heavier than usual.
This isn’t new. Antisemitism isn’t a trending issue. It’s an ancient, shapeshifting virus. It existed before the Crusades, before the ghettos, before the pogroms, before Auschwitz. It’s still here, lingering in classrooms, hiding in internet jokes, sometimes marching boldly down city streets.
What’s exhausting isn’t just the hatred, it’s the gaslighting that follows.
When we speak up, we’re told we’re overreacting. When we mourn, we’re told we’re playing victim. When we advocate for ourselves, we’re accused of wielding power.
And yet, we survive. We always have and we always will.
We Are Not Just Trauma
Being Jewish is not just surviving hate. It’s singing through it. It’s lighting candles every week in defiance of darkness. It’s dancing at weddings where we smash glass to remind ourselves that joy and brokenness can coexist.
We are more than what they say about us.
We are more than caricatures or conspiracy theories.
We are teachers, poets, wanderers, rebels, mystics, lovers, comedians, skeptics, dreamers.
Some of us keep kosher, others eat bagels and bacon. Some pray in Hebrew, others in silence. Some wear kippahs, others tattoos. We don’t all look the same. We don’t all vote the same. But we are connected: by blood, by story, by rhythm, by something older than any empire.
Why I’m Writing This
Because maybe you didn’t know that antisemitism is rising.
Maybe you’ve only seen snippets; a swastika here, a slur there.
Or maybe you’ve looked away, unsure how to help.
I’m writing this because it hurts. And I need to say that out loud.
But I’m also writing this because I’m proud.
Because I won’t shrink myself to make others comfortable.
Because silence has never saved us.
If you’re reading this and you’re Jewish: I see you. Whether you’re angry, exhausted, scared, or quietly lighting candles on your own, you belong. You’re part of a people who’ve outlived Pharaohs, popes, Nazis, and Twitter trolls.
If you’re not Jewish; I invite you to lean in. Learn. Listen. Stand with us. Not just when it’s trending, but when it’s quiet. Not just when it’s comfortable, but when it counts.
We’re Still Here
We sing Am Yisrael Chai, the people of Israel live, not as a political slogan, but a spiritual truth.
We’ve carried this identity through deserts and exile, through ghettos and shtetls, through burned books and broken glass.
And still, somehow, we rise. Not to dominate. Just to exist. To breathe. To love. To tell our stories in our own voices.
Antisemitism is racism, even if it doesn’t always look like how society defines racism today. It’s not just about religion — it’s about being seen as other. As dangerous. As less than.
Jews have been racialized, scapegoated, and dehumanized for centuries — no matter our skin color, language, or level of observance.
You don’t have to look “different” to be hated.
You don’t have to be religious to be targeted.
You just have to be Jewish.
Let that be heard. Let that be enough.
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