There are moments that demand more than prayer, more than hashtags, more than carefully worded statements of support or sorrow. There are moments that demand our full presence—physical, moral, and communal. This is one of those moments.
Assassination in D.C., Firebombs in Boulder
On May 21, 2025, two young Israeli diplomats were assassinated in Washington, D.C. They weren’t soldiers. They weren’t combatants. They were emissaries—representatives of a sovereign state—and they were murdered because they were Jews. Then on Sunday, in Boulder, Colorado, a firebomb was thrown at a group of Jews who had gathered not to protest, not to agitate, but simply to pray. To chant psalms. To plead for the release of hostages who remain in Gaza. They were attacked not for what they did, but for who they were—for daring to be visibly Jewish in public.
These are not isolated incidents. They are part of a pattern. Coordinated. Ideological. And growing more brazen by the day.
And yet, all too often, our communal response is muted. We issue a press release. We offer thoughts and prayers. We lower our gaze. We whisper words of peace while others chant for our death. And we post. A lot. On Facebook. On Instagram. On Twitter.
But there has to be a response that goes beyond screens. Beyond reels and retweets. Beyond candle emojis and digital outrage. There must be a force of Jewish strength and solidarity that cannot be scrolled past. It must be seen in the streets. It must be heard on the ground. And it must be felt by our enemies.
10,000 Jews Must Stand in Boulder
Next week, 10,000 Jews must gather in Boulder—not just to mourn, but to stand. Not just to say “Bring Them Home,” but to declare, loudly and visibly, “This ends now.” We must not gather simply to plead for the return of hostages. We must gather to assert our refusal to be terrorized into silence. Our signs should say what too many are still too afraid to speak: “End the Intifada—In Israel, On Campus, In Our Streets.” “Jewish Blood Is Not Cheap.” “We Will Not Be Hunted.”
This cannot be a local vigil. It must be a national reckoning. Because if firebombs had been thrown at a synagogue in 1939 and tens of thousands of Jews did not flood the streets in response, we would call it complicity. So what do we call it now?
What Incitement Leads To
Let us be clear about what we are facing. What begins with incitement against Israel’s right to exist—what begins with demonizing Zionism, the belief that Jews deserve a homeland like any other people—ends in terror. And then it happens again. In Boulder, the firebomb was not the end. The suspect continued his antisemitic rant even as a woman lay just feet away, her body burned, her skin blistered, attacked for standing in solidarity with hostages. That’s the nature of this hatred: it is relentless. It does not hesitate. It does not distinguish between types of Jews. It simply seeks to harm us all.
And yet the world keeps insisting this is just a “phase.” That we’re imagining it. That “Zionist” doesn’t mean Jew. That “Globalize the Intifada” is just metaphor. But let us be honest: the First Intifada (1987) and the Second Intifada (2000–2005) were not peace movements. They were campaigns of bloodshed—targeting civilians in buses, pizzerias, nightclubs, and wedding halls. More than 130 suicide bombings. Over 1,000 murdered Israelis. Children torn to pieces on their way to school. Families incinerated while eating lunch. The goal was not coexistence. It was slaughter. And today, when activists chant “Globalize the Intifada,” they are not talking about resistance. They are glorifying mass murder.
Free Speech Is Not a Shield for Violence
We are not afraid of free speech—we welcome it. Debate is part of the Jewish tradition. Argument, even fierce disagreement, is something we value. Let’s talk about Zionism. Let’s talk about justice. Let’s talk about peace. But there is a moral and legal limit to that speech, and we must be willing to say so without apology.
Free speech does not mean the freedom to glorify terror. It does not mean the freedom to call for genocide. It does not mean the right to incite violence and then claim plausible deniability when someone acts on it.
If a group publicly celebrated school shooters or posted memes glorifying 9/11, no one would hide behind constitutional technicalities. They would be removed. Denounced. Investigated. So why is the bar lower when the victims are Jews?
We have allowed “Globalize the Intifada” to be normalized on college campuses. We have allowed paraglider memes—representing the murderers of October 7—to be dismissed as edgy activism. We have allowed chants for “Zionist blood” to be brushed off as just students blowing off steam. But we know better. History has taught us what comes next when hate speech is indulged instead of confronted.
We are not calling for censorship. We are calling for responsibility. For consistency. For courage. Free speech must never become a shield for hate speech. And it must never serve as cover for terrorism.
Prepared in Spirit—And in Strength
And we, the Jewish people, must be prepared—not just emotionally or spiritually, but physically. We are not calling for militias. But we are calling for responsibility. For awareness. For action. Our institutions must not rely solely on fences and cameras. We must train. We must carry—where legal and safe. We must educate our communities about self-defense, situational awareness, and the halachic obligation to preserve life.
Because Jewish children should be able to walk into a synagogue without their parents praying they’ll make it home. Because Jewish students should not have to choose between safety and visibility. Because we were not born to hide.
This Is Our Line in the Sand
For years we were told we were exaggerating. That we were imagining things. That the slogans weren’t literal. That Zionist didn’t mean Jew. That “Intifada” was just poetry. But we’ve seen this movie before. We know how it ends. And this time, we will not play our part as victims.
So what must our response be?
Next week: 10,000 Jews in Boulder. After that: 100,000 more across the country. And every day that follows: strength, resolve, and visible, public Jewish pride. Not shame. Not fear. Not retreat.
Because we will not be hunted.
Because we will not go quietly.
Because the world must know:
We will not live as hunted people.
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