It is particularly apt just before Passover to consider that every generation of Jews asks the same question.

Is this moment different? Is it an echo? Or is it something completely unknown?

History teaches something more important than the answer itself: the question must always be asked.

Because the Jewish people have learned—often painfully—that threats rarely arrive all at once. They emerge slowly. They grow quietly. They spread socially before they become politically or physically dangerous. And then, like an inversion of the beautiful cereus flower that blooms all of a sudden as night falls, and wilts by dawn, this emergence is ugliness revealed. And it continues to grow, rather than wilt and fade away.

You may know the statistics already. Across the United States and around the world, antisemitism is rising with alarming speed. The Anti-Defamation League’s most recent national audit recorded 9,354 antisemitic incidents in the United States in 2024—the highest number ever recorded since tracking began in 1979. That number represents more than 25 incidents every single day—more than one every hour. And the last few weeks have seen even sharper increases. Even before the current hostilities with Iran, Antisemitic incidents have increased 344% in the past five years and nearly 900% in the past decade.

Statistics like these are not abstract.

They represent vandalized synagogues. Threats against schools. Harassment of Jewish students. Assaults on people simply walking to prayer. Synagogues in Detroit attacked by terrorists. Marchers in Colorado firebombed. Young people in Washington murdered. I told lawmakers in Albany this week, as I traveled there with our local Rabbis, Paul Kurland and David Berkman, to lobby for demonstration buffer zones around synagogues, what starts as free speech continues to intimidation, harassment, incitement, inspiring vandalism and deadly violence.

And for Jewish communities across the country—including here in New York State—these incidents are no longer distant headlines. They are lived realities.

New York alone recorded 1,437 antisemitic incidents in 2024, the highest total in any state in America.

We know what these numbers and this scale means. The media and government cannot dismiss them as isolated events. And we can say with gratitude, these numbers and these issues are taken seriously by our partners in government and law enforcement here in Rockland.

We know that hatred of Jews, whatever word you use to describe it, rarely disappears. It evolves.

In previous generations it was cloaked in the language of race, religion, or conspiracy. Today it increasingly appears in the language of antizionism.

Criticism of Israeli policies is not antisemitism. Israelis themselves debate their government with extraordinary intensity every single day. Healthy societies allow debate.

But when criticism of Israel becomes denial of the Jewish people’s right to self-determination—when slogans call for the elimination of the Jewish state or celebrate violence against Jews—the line has been crossed, and Jewish lives are endangered by the bigotry of a growing, metastasizing threat that targets every place where Jews meet, celebrate, or congregate. The vocabulary may have changed, but the underlying animus has not.

History reminds us that hatred of the Jewish people often adapts to the cultural language of the moment. It finds new arguments, new slogans, and new justifications. But the target remains the same. Us. our shuls, our communities. Our sense of safety and belonging.

Perhaps the most dangerous development in any period of rising hatred is not the extremists themselves. It is the normalization that follows.

When antisemitic rhetoric becomes common on campuses; When intimidation of Jewish students is tolerated as political activism; When conspiracy theories circulate freely online; society begins to adjust.

The unacceptable slowly becomes acceptable. The fringe becomes mainstream. And silence begins to replace outrage. The Jewish people have seen this pattern before. Hatred rarely begins with violence. It begins with permission.

Permission to say things about Jews that would never be said about any other group. Permission to isolate Jews from the protections extended to others. Permission to spread blood libels about the Jewish state. Permission to incitefully portray its supporters as worthy targets for opprobrium and violence. Permission to portray Jewish life as uniquely expendable. Once that permission exists, history shows us what can follow.

So what is the appropriate response? First, clarity. We must name Jew hatred when we see it—whether it appears on a vandalized synagogue wall, in a college classroom, or in our town and village councils.

Second, community. Jewish life has never survived difficult moments alone. Our strength has always come from the institutions that bind us together—synagogues, schools, camps, federations, and the volunteers and leaders who sustain them. But community also requires protection. And that brings us to an essential reality of Jewish life today: security is no longer optional. And it is necessary even though it is costly.

In Rockland County, our community has taken that responsibility seriously. Through the Federation’s Rockland Community Security Initiative, we have created a coordinated system designed to strengthen security across Jewish institutions. The initiative provides training, vulnerability assessments, security briefings, and partnerships with law enforcement to safeguard synagogues, schools, camps, and communal organizations. This week, we convened 150 community members for a security briefing ahead of Passover, addressing the new threats we are seeing, and hearing from our partners in law enforcement both locally and from the FBI’s anti-terrorism task force.

Our goal is ambitious and necessary: we engage hundreds of Jewish institutions across the county with professional security resources and preparedness training - and we’ve trained over 2500 volunteers to date. We’ve provided hundreds of vulnerability assessments supporting millions of dollars in grants to local Jewish institutions. We’ve developed a security network of almost 300 local Jewish institutions. We will continue to raise the level of security for every member of our community.

Rockland’s Jewish community was among the first in North America to establish this kind of comprehensive security infrastructure with the support of JFNA’s LiveSecure initiative andUJA Federation of New York / JCRC New York.

This work matters. Because preparedness does not diminish Jewish life. It protects it. Preparedness means situational awareness. It means trained volunteers. It means professional assessments and security planning. It means strong partnerships with law enforcement. It means advocacy at every level of government. And perhaps most importantly, it means refusing to ignore warning signs.

Some people are uncomfortable discussing threats so openly. They worry that emphasizing security will create fear. The concern is understandable. But preparedness and fear are not the same thing. Preparedness allows Jewish life to flourish safely. Preparedness allows our children to learn without intimidation. Preparedness allows communities to celebrate openly and proudly.

Ideally, wisdom alone would motivate preparation. But human nature does not always work that way. And here we are. Shuls shot up in Toronto. Temple Israel in Detroit, the largest Reform congregation in the country, attacked by a terrorist with a truck full of explosives, with teachers and children only saved by heroic and vigilant security professionals.

I’ve always been wary of using the rhetoric of fear. You’ll rarely find it in my speeches or in my writing. But today, as I write this, if it takes fear to prompt action, so be it. And if fear is the catalyst that motivates communities to strengthen security, improve awareness, and invest in preparedness—then that fear may ultimately serve a purpose. Because fear that paralyzes is dangerous. But fear that motivates readiness can save lives.

The Jewish response to adversity has never been surrender. The Almighty calls us ‘Am K’She Oref’ a stiff-necked, stubborn people. And stubborn we must be. It’s what gives us our superpower. It has always been our resilience.

We confront hatred when it appears. We strengthen our communities when they are threatened. And we continue building Jewish life with confidence and purpose.

Yes, what we see today is troubling. We must stand up and defend ourselves. Through volunteering at our shuls; training for any eventuality. Advocating and demanding the resources we need from the government. Supporting the initiatives that safeguard the community with our resources and our dollars. We must do these things to safeguard our future. That future will be determined by something far stronger than hatred.

It will be determined by vigilance, yes. By unity, without question yes. By preparedness.

And by a simple truth that has sustained our people for thousands of years:

The Jewish story does not end with fear. It continues with courage.

Am Yisrael Chai.