“Sam, something is going on in Israel.”
Those were the first words I heard from one of my best friends on the morning of October 7, 2023.
The day before, we met in Boston to see a concert. While it was a short drive from my then-home in Springfield, Massachusetts, my friend traveled from our hometown of Birmingham, Alabama. After a late evening, we’d slept until around 8:00 that morning. As I was waking up, she looked up from her phone and said those words.
Neither of us could have imagined what we were about to learn.
Like so many others, I spent the hours that followed trying to understand what was happening. The next day, I drove home and tested positive for COVID-19, leaving me isolated in our guest bedroom.
Daily life continued around me while I was quarantined with little to do but watch, read and think about what had happened. I could not pull myself away from the news. Each report brought another horrific story as we learned more about the people who had been murdered and taken hostage. I struggled to comprehend how human beings could commit such brutality. At a time when I desperately needed the comfort of community, I was left alone with my thoughts and fears. Even now, I can physically feel the loneliness of those days.
Three years later, the symmetry of this week feels almost surreal. I have COVID again and have spent much of the week isolated once more. Yet this October 7, instead of being glued to a television screen, I found myself reading a letter that arrived at our JCC.
The letter was from a gentleman I have never met. He is not Jewish, nor is he a member of our JCC. His connection to our J began through his friendship with our former Executive Director Ira Jaffee, of blessed memory.
In his letter, he explained how witnessing the rise in antisemitism and attacks against Jewish people had moved him to action. He believes standing against such hatred is a moral obligation. Enclosed with his letter was a generous four-figure contribution, which he hopes to make annually as an expression of his “loyalty and commitment to the JCC.”
His generosity was extraordinary, but what moved me most was his willingness to stand with a community that was not his own.
Antisemitism threatens Jews first, but it does not end with Jews. History has shown us repeatedly that societies willing to tolerate hatred and dehumanization against one group rarely contain it there. When we allow others to be targeted, we weaken the principles that protect us all.
As I thought about his letter, I remembered how desperately I had wanted others to recognize what was happening in October 2023. Would people care enough to speak up, even when the hatred was not directed at them? Here was someone who had chosen to do exactly that.
When I called to thank him, I asked, “Without your connection to the JCC, would you have sent this letter?” He paused. “No. Of course, my values would have guided me to stand up for what is right, but the relationship with the JCC provided me a powerful connection to a community that was not my own.”
I have thought a great deal about our conversation. His values did not change because of the JCC, but his relationship with our community gave those values a personal meaning. The people facing hatred were no longer strangers. He knew them, cared about them, and felt compelled to act.
His answer speaks to something fundamental about our JCC. We will always be a place where Jewish people can live fully, safely and proudly as Jews. Our Jewish values also call us to build relationships across faiths, backgrounds and differences, not despite what is happening in the world, but because of it.
Every day, people from all backgrounds come together here. They exercise alongside one another, build friendships, and become part of each other’s lives. Through those relationships, people who may have had little connection to Jewish life come to know our traditions, our values and our community. We have the same opportunity to learn from their traditions and faiths.
At our JCC, we are not simply creating a place where people of different backgrounds coexist. We are building relationships that challenge prejudice, foster understanding, and create allies who will stand up for one another when it matters most.
Hatred is much easier to spread when we see people as strangers or stereotypes rather than neighbors and friends. Relationships alone cannot eliminate antisemitism, but they can make it harder for prejudice to take root and easier for people to recognize when someone else’s identity is threatened.
During those lonely days in 2023, I worried about the world my son would grow up in. I still do. This week, however, gave me hope for the future he will inherit. While hatred will undoubtedly shape parts of that world, so will the courage of people who refuse to accept it — people who build relationships beyond their own communities, challenge prejudice, and stand beside one another when it matters most.
I cannot think of a more important reason to do the work we do at our JCC.
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