In a recent report released by the Jewish Federations of North America, we learned that Jewish day schools across the United States are now spending, on average, 84% more on security since October 7, 2023. That number isn’t just a budget adjustment—it’s a moral wake-up call.
We’ve come to call it the “Antisemitism Tax,” the cost we pay just to live openly as Jews. Not to grow, not to innovate, not to dream—but to defend. And while Jewish history is filled with tolls and taxes levied against our people, what makes this moment uniquely painful is how visible, how calculated, and how normalized it’s all become.
Jewish families are paying thousands more each year for the privilege of being Jewish in public. Our schools and synagogues are installing cameras and hiring guards not out of paranoia, but out of necessity. And perhaps most sobering of all: We’re getting used to it.
The Real Cost
What does an 84% increase in security spending look like?
It looks like a Jewish day school redirecting funds from scholarships to surveillance. It looks like teachers doing active shooter drills instead of professional development. It looks like a synagogue debating whether to repair its roof or reinforce its doors.
According to the JFNA report, the average Jewish day school now spends $600 to $1,000 per student each year on security. That’s on top of already high tuition. If you’re a parent sending two children to day school, you’re not just paying for Jewish education—you’re paying for Jewish fear.
And yet I do it. Proudly. I send my children to Jewish day school, and I also pay my taxes, which fund security staff and infrastructure in the public schools in my district. I believe in shared responsibility. I believe that every child—Jewish, Muslim, Christian, or secular—deserves to feel safe when they walk into a classroom.
But I also believe this: Jewish security should not be the sole burden of Jewish parents. It should not even be the burden of Jewish schools. It must be embraced as the honor and duty of the entire Jewish community.
A Communal Response Rooted in Pride
Here in Omaha, we are fortunate to have a Jewish Federation that understands the power of collective responsibility. But I believe it’s time to push even further.
Imagine if the Jewish Federation of Omaha, out of a deep sense of pride, not just obligation, chose to absorb this security increase entirely—so that no child, parent, or educator on our campus ever had to worry about their safety. Not because it’s their job. But because it’s our mission.
What if security wasn’t framed as a grim necessity, but as a sacred commitment—that anyone who walks onto our campus, enters our day school, or joins our synagogue feels protected, welcomed, and uplifted?
Let it never be said that a Jewish parent hesitated to enroll their child in Jewish school because of security costs. Let it never be assumed that Jewish safety is a luxury we have to self-fund. Jewish Federation exists to ensure Jewish continuity—not just culturally, but physically.
Security Without Surrender
To be clear: Security is not surrender. I am deeply grateful to every school director, shul president, and Federation professional who has navigated this painful new landscape with grace and grit. Their vigilance is nothing short of heroic.
But we must not lose the plot. Security is a means, not an end. We are not just trying to stay safe. We are trying to live Jewishly. We are trying to celebrate, learn, build, create, and repair the world. A camera may protect us from attack, but only Torah, community, and memory will protect us from despair.
From Historical Burden to Future Vision
Throughout history, Jews have paid all kinds of taxes—literal and figurative—for the right to exist. In feudal Europe, we paid protection money to local rulers. In czarist Russia, we bribed officials to keep synagogues open. In Soviet times, we paid with silence and erasure.
Now, in 2025 America, we pay with checkbooks, anxiety, and reinforced glass. But what if we chose to stop calling it a tax—and started calling it a choice?
A choice to keep our doors open. A choice to invest in Jewish joy. A choice to carry each other’s burdens not with resentment, but with pride.
This Is the Jewish Response
The Jewish answer to fear has never been retreat. It has always been presence. And presence costs money. But let that cost be a rallying cry—not a resignation.
Let our Federation, our communal leadership, and every donor understand: The cost of Jewish security is not a separate line item—it is a declaration. That we will not hide. That we will not outsource Jewish safety to others. That we will show up for each other because Jewish life is not just worth protecting—it’s worth celebrating.
If our enemies are loud, let our unity be louder. If the price of protection is rising, let our commitment rise higher still.
Let no child feel unsafe. Let no parent feel alone. Let no Jewish institution have to choose between Torah and protection.
Because in the end, we’re not just building walls. We’re building a future.
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