Those of us who call Israel home, and many who do not, know too well the searing pain left by terror and war. Every siren, every rocket interception or fall, and every casualty of war or terror, etches itself into our collective memory—not as a distant horror, but as lived experience. Yet even as we carry these wounds, we cannot turn away from the surge of antisemitic violence unfolding half a world away.

The fatal shooting of two Israeli embassy staffers outside the Capital Jewish Museum in Washington, D.C., on May 21, 2025, is a stark reminder that Jews everywhere remain vulnerable to hate-fueled violence. Having endured suicidal bombings on buses and streets, in our cafes and hotels, car rammings at bus stops, stabbings, and the gunning down of drivers, we Israelis are far from numb; we are galvanized—and heartbroken—to see yet another community terrorized.

A bit after 9 p.m. on Wednesday, a gunman opened fire as Yaron Lischinsky, 30, and Sarah Lynn Milgrim, 26, left a “Young Diplomats Reception” hosted by the American Jewish Committee. Both were dedicated to building bridges: Lischinsky through Abraham Accords–related research, Milgrim via Tech2Peace’s people-to-people exchanges.

The suspect, 30-year-old Elias Rodriguez of Chicago, was apprehended on scene after shouting “Free, free Palestine!” while in custody. U.S. and Israeli leaders across the political spectrum condemned the act as “antisemitic terrorism,” and investigations are probing both hate-crime and terrorism charges. For Israelis, the violence in our global capital echoes the sense that no refuge is absolute, that even the world’s most stable democracies can become ground zero for Jew-hate.

We do not speak of tragedy striking the Jewish people as if it began 10/7; our history is rich with sacrifice at the hands of Jew-hating Arab mobs, white supremacists, and terrorists. In 1995, during the heady days (to some but not all) of Oslo, my 20-year-old daughter Alisa studying traditional Jewish texts at Nishmat in Jerusalem, took a short break to, as she told me, “to get some sun before Pesach.” She boarded a bus in Jerusalem and headed to Gush Katif. Outside the community of Kfar Darom a Palestinian Islamic Jihad suicide bomber rammed his vehicle into the bus and detonated explosives, killing eight and wounding dozens more.

Her death sparked not only grieving, but enduring legal and legislative battles including a lawsuit against the financial sponsor of Palestinian Islamic Jihad, the Islamic Republic of Iran. It was an attempt to get Iran out of the terrorism business. Other families followed in my footsteps attempting to stop Iran and others from funding terror. We failed.

Over the past eighteen months, antisemitism in the United States has surged to levels not seen since the Anti-Defamation League began tracking incidents in 1979. In 2024 alone, the ADL reports more than 9,000 assaults, harassment, and vandalism incidents—a 344 percent increase over five years—and 33 percent of American Jews reported experiencing antisemitism firsthand; fully 56 percent said they altered their routines out of fear. Police departments in New York City, Chicago, Austin and Denver all documented double- and triple-digit year-over-year jumps in hate-crime reports, underscoring that the threat is neither isolated nor fleeting.

Why, then, does American society struggle to halt this tide? First, there is an education gap: only 29 states mandate Holocaust or antisemitism curricula, leaving swaths of young Americans ignorant of pre-World War II Jew-hate—and thus ill-prepared to recognize its modern variants.

Second, social media platforms have normalized extremist language. Slogans like “from the river to the sea” are now widely coded as calls for Jewish elimination; yet few platforms enforce their own hate-speech policies when such rhetoric gains mass traction).

Third, American politicians are not without blame. In early 2019, Rep. Ilhan Omar tweeted and spoke in ways that many observers said invoked classic antisemitic tropes about Jews, money and “dual loyalty.” In February, Omar replied to a thread about congressional support for Israel with the line “It’s all about the Benjamins, baby” (a reference to $100 bills) suggesting that pro-Israel positions of elected officials were simply “bought” by Jewish money. House Democratic leaders swiftly denounced the tweet as playing into the harmful stereotype that Jewish people use wealth to wield outsized political influence, but she was not done.

In later remarks at “Busboys and Poets,” a restaurant, bar, bookstore, coffee shop, and events venue in the Washington, D.C. area known for supporting “progressive” causes, Omar accused Jews of dual loyalty to America versus a (Jewish) “foreign” homeland. “Why is it OK for me,” she asked, “to talk about the influence of the NRA, of fossil fuel industries, or Big Pharma, and not talk about a powerful lobbying group that is influencing policies?”

When Omar was called out for these antisemitic tropes via a Congressional Resolution, Senators Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders, and others, came to her defense.

Warren criticized the measure as “an attempt to silence debate,” arguing that “branding criticism of Israel as automatically anti-Semitic has a chilling effect on our public discourse and makes it harder to achieve a peaceful solution between Israelis and Palestinians.” What did Omar’s remarks have to do with a “peaceful solution?” Nothing.

“Anti-Semitism,” Sanders said, “is a hateful and dangerous ideology which must be vigorously opposed… We must not, however, equate anti-Semitism with legitimate criticism of the right-wing, Netanyahu government in Israel.” He never explained how accusing Jewish interests of spending money to buy influence or claims of dual loyalty were “legitimate criticism.”

Let’s be honest, political polarization and equivocation by public figures can embolden fringe elements; when leaders hesitate to label hateful acts as antisemitic, they forfeit moral authority and risk validating bigotry.

Finally, law-enforcement responses often lag; hate-crime statutes are inconsistently applied, prosecutors reluctant to pursue terrorism enhancements, and federal resources stretched thin.

If we have learned anything over the years, it is that vigilance and action must go hand-in-hand.

American society must implement comprehensive Holocaust and antisemitism education at all grade levels, mandate rigorous enforcement of hate-speech policies online, and harmonize state and federal hate-crime laws so that every act of Jew-hate is met with swift justice. Civic and interfaith leaders must unite to make clear: antisemitism is not a “foreign problem” but a threat to the very foundations of pluralism, democracy, and human rights.

Only by confronting the disease of antisemitism in all its guises—historical and contemporary—can we hope to protect our children, our neighbors, and our shared future. To paraphrase the great Jewish sage, Hillel, “if not now, when?”