Opinion | My Synagogue Was Attacked, but That’s Not What Scares Me Most


One chilly January morning this yr, a masked man wearing darkish clothes walked up the driveway of the synagogue the place I’m a rabbi in Bloomfield, N.J., and threw a Molotov cocktail on the constructing. Fortunately, our doorways held, the flames went out upon influence and nobody was damage. Nonetheless, the incident left our 540-family congregation shaken. We canceled spiritual faculty mere minutes earlier than college students had been set to reach, inevitably forcing mother and father to reply questions they weren’t ready for.

The incident was the primary direct assault within the historical past of our synagogue. The following day, congregants gathered in our constructing for a therapeutic service, adopted by a discussion board on the continued security measures we had been taking. Quite a few individuals reached out by e-mail and textual content message in search of consolation. Some mother and father selected to maintain their youngsters at house within the days that adopted.

And but, all through, I used to be not afraid. I used to be offended, damage, usually drained — however not afraid. In actual fact, for thus many people, the assault was not essentially the most scary episode of the previous six months. Again in November, the F.B.I. reported “credible info” on elevated dangers for synagogues throughout New Jersey. Though the suspect behind these threats was shortly situated, our in any other case sturdy preschool remained practically empty the subsequent day. A few of our often well-attended conferences and scheduled neighborhood occasions had been canceled or moved on-line.

In the event you requested me a yr in the past which episode would have been extra scary — which might have stored individuals house, which might have haunted us extra — I might have guessed 100 occasions that it could be an precise assault on our synagogue. However now that I’ve skilled each, I perceive that it’s the nebulous, unpredictable threats that hold each my congregants and me up at night time. This isn’t one thing restricted to our expertise, that is one thing Jews throughout this nation have discovered: We can not rally when nothing occurs. We are able to solely fear. That’s the reason they name this terror.

One purpose we had been so resilient after the Molotov cocktail assault is that we had a plan of motion in place. Within the 4 years because the capturing on the Tree of Life Congregation in Pittsburgh, American Jewish establishments have developed rapid-response playbooks to deal with concrete terror threats and finest practices have been shared across the nation. Now we have invested in our safety infrastructure and communicated these modifications to our congregants. Over the previous few years we’ve added cameras, panic buttons, shatterproof movie to our home windows and boulders meant to maintain automobiles from plowing into our constructing. Within the days after the incident in January, we knew to reassure our congregants, collect worshipers again to the synagogue shortly and attain out to native police, elected officers and interfaith companions to agency up their dedication to allyship.

Once we put in place the plan we had been making ready for, our congregation and our higher neighborhood got here out in drive. On the finish of that week, our sanctuary was crammed past capability, with tons of of households standing exterior within the chilly in solidarity, at an interfaith rally in opposition to hate.

However the motion plans Jewish establishments in America at the moment are pressured to make use of work finest when confronted with direct acts of violence. Our coaching falls brief in opposition to nebulous threats, in opposition to insidious worry that feels each immense and insurmountable. We’re left with nothing however the anxiousness the obscure risk of an assault creates.

A era in the past, earlier than I turned a rabbi, Jewish communities didn’t count on or plan for synagogue assaults, assaults in opposition to Jews strolling down the road, or swastikas painted on native playgrounds. Once they occurred, the occasions had been outliers, aberrations. My great-grandparents who fled pogroms in Europe could have anticipated that, however this nation felt completely different.

Now we too have come to anticipate violence and hate. The worry of those potential threats has grow to be a mainstay throughout the psyche of recent American Jewish life. It’s exhausting.

We are able to’t make these threats extra predictable. However that doesn’t imply we’ve got to stay in perpetual anxiousness. If we’re going to do something about these stochastic threats — in different phrases, the drumbeat of falsehoods and hate-mongering in opposition to Jews that produce each concrete horrible motion, and the obscure threats that hang-out our goals — we’ve got to seek out tangible actions that provide company and objective amid the tumult.

To deal with this new form of anticipatory worry, we have to perceive that there’s a distinction between reacting to a hateful motion and fearing a menace. Worry thrives off powerlessness, and after we are afraid, we’ve got to seek out avenues to get our energy again.

When hate feels insurmountable and unpredictable, we’ve got to shrink the issue. Even when we’re treading a shaky path, we’ve got to seek for tiny patches of agency floor.

Along with neighboring rabbis, we educated our native cities to name us when there’s an antisemitic incident first, so we will strategize with them about the fitting response. A few of our native Christmas tree lightings now embody a Jewish presence: This previous yr, we used the occasion to speak about our collective worry and the necessity to carry gentle. In April, after we realized that Passover ended over Ramadan, we broke bread with an area Turkish neighborhood. That night time in our sanctuary, a blended group of Muslims and Jews gathered round one among our Torah scrolls and mentioned the various issues our faiths shared.

Our wider Jewish neighborhood has additionally reached throughout spiritual and racial strains to work towards social justice points like bringing lease management to neighboring Montclair, to construct bonds and belief.

Our native group of rabbis has begun working with faculties to guage their Holocaust curriculums. We’ve additionally frolicked in a few of these faculties, placing a face and private story to that historical past. Equally vital, we’ve got labored to permit college students to know the connection between the hatred of the Nazi period and the hatred in the present day — not simply in opposition to Jews, however in opposition to all those that have skilled bigotry.

Teenagers from our congregation joined with different teenagers from across the nation and traveled to Washington, D.C., to study and foyer for the bipartisan Pray Secure Act, first launched in 2021 by Senator Rob Portman of Ohio and Maggie Hassan of New Hampshire. The hope for the laws was to create a centralized area for info, federal grants and finest practices for homes of worship and religion teams dealing with worry of assault.

In the meantime, on the safety entrance, we invited an area SWAT group to make use of our constructing for rescue coaching, since they had been in search of an unfamiliar area. In the event that they ever must enter sooner or later, they now know our constructing properly.

None of those actions alone, and even in combination, will cease antisemitic terror. What our work can do, nonetheless, is palliate the worry that hatred seeks to create. There’ll all the time be dangerous actors, hateful individuals, dangerous brokers. However they needn’t derail our lives.

Each triumph, regardless of how small, takes up the room in our psyche that was as soon as filled with our anxieties. We have to ask not what is going to occur tomorrow however what we will do in the present day. Then, when tomorrow comes, we arrive, realizing we’ve got been so busy fixing our damaged world that we had no time to be afraid.

Rabbi Marc Katz leads Temple Ner Tamid in Bloomfield, N.J. He’s the creator of “The Coronary heart of Loneliness: How Jewish Knowledge Can Assist You Cope and Discover Consolation.”