It is the Jewish New Year, 5785. During the Days of Awe — the ten days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur — Jews seek forgiveness from others and strive to make amends for any wrongs committed over the past year. While we are encouraged to practice repentance and seek forgiveness daily, this effort intensifies during Elul, the month leading up to the High Holy Days. The Days of Awe are an especially intense period of introspection, repentance, and reconciliation. For those unfamiliar with the holidays and what they are, see the list at the end. During this time we Jews atone to those we’ve wronged and commit to doing better each year. This new year, I ask that everyone not only reflect but also strive to do better — extend grace, seek understanding, and stand together against hate.
As I reflect on the past year, it feels like we’ve lost our moral compass, our sense of civility, and our ability to truly listen and treat each other with grace. What I found most striking about the vice-presidential debate was that Vance and Waltz were civil to each other — cordial, almost even nice. It was a reminder of a time when debates resembled this type of respectful discourse. I believe many who watched it also felt a longing for that time when debates resembled this type of discourse.
I’m a relatively newly minted Jew — a Jew by patrilineal descent, though I didn’t always know that. Growing up, I was uncomfortably aware of my color and often felt othered from a young age. Raised as mixed — half Black and half white — I felt and understood the structural racism and discrimination embedded in our society. I use these terms because that is what is currently the societal norm, but I prefer half African American and half European American.
I grew up attuned to microaggressions like, ‘You’re so articulate,’ or being asked, ‘What are you?’ I saw the impacts of systematic racism it when my father and uncle would follow my cousin when he first started driving alone, just in case he was stopped by the police. I heard the story of my grandmother being denied basic services because of the color of her skin and almost dying. I’ve been called an ‘Oreo,’ a ‘half-caste,’ and an ‘outcast.’ I’ve even been spit on for holding hands with an Asian man and slapped for simply being mixed. I learned to navigate these encounters, often taking the opportunity to gently educate others while managing the hurt, anger, and frustration they caused and the fear I sometimes felt.
Six years ago, at age 43, I discovered through an ancestry DNA test that I wasn’t half Black, but half Jewish. As I explored what it meant to be Jewish, I felt drawn to this new community and found a sense of belonging I had never experienced before. Though my mom raised me in an almost anti-religious household, I converted to Reform Judaism a little more than three years ago. Now, as a Jew, I am experiencing the painful reality of antisemitism.
My children grew up fully aware of racism and how it permeates everyday life, often without people even realizing it — like the security guard who followed my Black father around the mall when he had my two- and four-year-old in tow, to ‘ensure’ he hadn’t kidnapped them. Or the store clerk who followed their grandfather, keeping a watchful eye as if to prevent him from stealing. Now, they are also attuned to antisemitic remarks, such as when a student in one of their high school classes asked why Jews drink the blood of Christian babies. Or when someone commented to one of my sons that she now understood why he was so good with money — it was because he was a Jew.
After my discovery, my husband bought me a Star of David, which I’ve proudly worn around my neck alongside a cartouche he had made for me in Turkey when he was in the army, engraved with my name in hieroglyphics. But since the October 7, 2023, massacre by Hamas and Israel’s subsequent efforts to prevent future attacks, there has been a steep rise in antisemitism and vitriol in public spaces and on social media. I now hesitate before putting on my necklace, wondering if I’ll face discrimination — or, even worse, if I might be physically attacked.
Having spent my life explaining racism to others, I now find myself having to explain antisemitism. I’m often struck by how little people consider the impact of their words and actions, or how rarely they pause to reflect on what they’re saying. If a Black person tells someone that the Confederate flag offends them, most people wouldn’t argue with their perspective. So, if a Jewish person says that ‘from the river to the sea’ is offensive because it implies the eradication of all Jews in that area, why is it acceptable to debate that point? When a community tells us that something is harmful or offensive, it’s our responsibility to listen and acknowledge their reality rather than dismiss it.
Do we ask someone born in India who immigrates to the U.S. to be held accountable for the actions of the Indian government? No. So why do we think it’s fair to hold a Jewish person living in the U.S. responsible for what the Israeli government does? We are a nation of immigrants, contributing to a vibrant ‘salad bowl’ of diverse cultures and identities that shape our country. It is unjust to hold any U.S. citizen accountable for the actions of a foreign government simply because of their ethnicity or heritage.
Many people have also told me that Israel is committing genocide against the Palestinians. The word ‘genocide’ combines the Greek word genos (race or tribe) and the Latin -cide (killing), conveying the intent to destroy a particular group. Polish-Jewish lawyer Raphael Lemkin coined the term in 1944 to describe the systematic and deliberate extermination of Jews and Romani people by the Germans and Axis powers during World War II. Approximately 6 million Jews — nearly 70% of Europe’s Jewish population — were murdered, along with an estimated 220,000 to 500,000 Romani, representing about 25% to 50% of the Romani population. These genocides targeted entire communities leading to devastating losses and long-lasting impacts.
Genocide is the intentional and systematic extermination of a people. If Israel were committing genocide, we would see the systematic extermination of the 2 million Palestinian Arabs who live within Israel’s borders, who make up about 21% of Israel’s population — but this isn’t happening.
I am also often told that Jews are colonizers in what is now the state of Israel. This perspective overlooks the historical and cultural connection of the Jewish people to the land, which dates back thousands of years. Even the name ‘Palestine’ reflects this history. In 135 CE, following a large-scale Jewish revolt, the Romans changed the name of the province from Judea, meaning the ‘place of the Jews,’ to ‘Syria Palaestina’. Why this name? Because the Romans sought to erase the Jewish connection to the land. They chose ‘Palaestina,’ a term derived from the ancient Philistines, because they were the historic enemies of the Israelites. The first archaeological evidence beyond the Bible, which places Jews in the area 500 years earlier, shows that a Jewish presence began during the Iron Age (1200–1000 BCE). The Jewish people established the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah in 930 BCE and Jews have maintained a continuous presence in the region ever since.
Jews and Palestinians share the same place of origin and even the same ancestry. Through my DNA surprise, I’ve taken a deep dive into the study of DNA and haplogroups — genetic population groups that share a common ancestor. My paternal line belongs to a haplogroup that is just as likely to be found among Jews as it is among Arabs. We all really do come from the same place.
I am not stating that what is happening in Gaza is okay. I am not stating that there shouldn’t be a Palestinian state. What I am stating is that this conflict has a complex history, one that cannot be reduced to simple accusations or labels. We must recognize the deep-rooted connections both peoples have to the land, listen to the voices of those affected, and strive for a solution that ensures the safety, dignity, and self-determination for everyone involved.
Just as we acknowledge the deep trauma many in ALAANA communities (African, Latinx, Arab, Asian, or Native/Indigenous) experience from ongoing racism, we must also recognize the impacts of antisemitism. I find it a little ironic and antisemitic that ‘J’ isn’t even included in the acronym. Antisemitism is the unfair treatment or hatred of Jews simply because they are Jewish. Like racism, it can manifest in harmful attitudes, behaviors, and policies that marginalize, exclude, or disadvantage individuals or communities. The struggles of different marginalized communities may not be identical, but they do share the common experience of fighting against discrimination, hatred, and violence. Our solidarity must be rooted in a mutual commitment to justice and dignity for everyone.
We must stand in solidarity with ALL marginalized groups. We must strive to hold onto civility, extend grace to one another, and to think carefully about our words. Let us stop, take a moment to listen, and learn. I hold onto the hope that this year can be better and that each of us can help make that hope a reality.
Let us each commit to showing up with courage and compassion, to protect the dignity of all people, and to stand together against hate.
JEWISH HIGH HOLY DAYS
Rosh Hashanah: The Jewish New Year, the beginning of a new year in the Jewish calendar, and a time of introspection, personal growth, and spiritual rebirth.
Yom Kippur: The Day of Atonement, is ten days after Rosh Hashanah, the holiest day in Judaism, marked by fasting, prayer, and repentance to seek forgiveness and spiritual renewal
Sukkot: A harvest holiday beginning five days after Yom Kippur that commemorates the Israelites’ journey in the wilderness, celebrated by dwelling in temporary structures called sukkahs and giving thanks for the fall harvest.
Shemini Atzeret: The eighth day of Sukkot, which marks the end of Sukkot and the beginning of Simchat Torah.
Simchat Torah: The very next day, and is a celebration of the end of the Torah reading cycle and the beginning of a new one marked by dancing, singing, and parading with the Torah scrolls
