On October 27, 2018, a horrific event unfolded at the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. A gunman armed with an AR-15 and multiple pistols entered the building during Shabbat services, unleashing violence on the congregants. In his rampage, he declared, “All Jews must die!” resulting in eleven fatalities and six more individuals injured, marking the deadliest antisemitic attack in the history of the United States.
At the time of this tragedy, I was teaching at a small, private Jewish school in New York, situated approximately 400 miles away. Although we were physically distant from Pittsburgh, the impact of the event resonated deeply within us. Hate crimes, by their nature, extend their reach far beyond the immediate victims. Those who belong to the targeted community are left with a chilling awareness that they too could be next. An assault on Jewish individuals felt like a direct assault on our own lives.
In the aftermath, our school implemented new security measures. The friendly security guard, Mike, was replaced by a highly trained team of agents who monitored every entrance, resembling a protective detail for dignitaries. We received new protocols, codewords, and identification badges that were more secure than before. For field trips, boys were advised to wear caps instead of their yarmulkes, allowing them to cover their heads without overtly identifying as Jewish. While we had been practicing drills for emergencies and active shooter situations, the atmosphere shifted—these exercises no longer felt hypothetical.
Though I don’t often reflect on my Jewish identity, this incident forced me to confront it. I don’t regularly wear a kippah or attend synagogue, and my observance of Jewish traditions is minimal. I accepted a position at a Jewish school mainly for professional reasons. However, to those harboring antisemitic beliefs, such distinctions are irrelevant. To individuals like the Pittsburgh shooter, all Jews are viewed through a singular, hateful lens.
Despite the tragedy of the Pittsburgh attack, I was astonished that it represented the worst antisemitic incident in our nation’s history. There have been more deadly assaults in other countries, but none compare to this in the U.S. We often view bigotry as something from the past, comforted by the belief that society is progressing. However, recent years have shown a disturbing trend: antisemitic incidents reached record highs in 2018 and 2019, and the American Jewish Committee reported that the situation in 2020 was still “persistent and worsening.”
As America grapples with its long-overdue reckoning on race, it’s crucial to recognize the interconnectedness of racism, antisemitism, and other forms of hatred. The far-right extremists and neo-Nazis who rallied in Charlottesville, Virginia, in 2017 screamed, “Jews will not replace us!” This “replacement” theory—suggesting that the addition of diverse ethnic and racial groups threatens white/European heritage—is a long-standing antisemitic trope, one that has been manipulated throughout history.
This same theory fuels other rising forms of hatred in America. The narrative that “immigrants steal American jobs” closely aligns with these sentiments. Right-wing figures have disparaged immigrants, claiming they degrade our society. Language used to describe these groups mirrors the rhetoric used by the Nazis against Jews and others.
While Jewish individuals in the U.S. do not face the same systemic issues that Black and Brown communities experience, antisemitism still poses a significant threat. Most Jewish Americans appear as any other white citizens, which has led to a distorted perception of privilege. Antisemites resent this perceived advantage, believing that Jewish individuals can secretly undermine white culture while blending into society.
The Pittsburgh shooter, Robert Bowers, was not only a vocal antisemite but also harbored deep-seated animosity towards immigrants. His actions were partly fueled by the fear surrounding migrant caravans approaching the U.S. border in 2018. This political climate, rife with incendiary rhetoric, painted immigrants as a dangerous “invasion.” Bowers specifically blamed Jewish organizations, such as the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society (HIAS), for supporting these migrants, viewing their humanitarian efforts as a betrayal.
The essence of a terror attack is the pervasive fear it instills in the targeted community. My students and I felt this dread acutely; the events in Pittsburgh could just as easily unfold in our own neighborhood. We were not mistaken. Recently, the North Shore Hebrew Academy in Great Neck, New York, faced a cyberattack where hackers posted Nazi imagery and sent threatening messages, including one that ominously stated, “YOU’RE NEXT I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE HEIL HITLER.”
This incident was shocking and horrifying, yet it was part of a larger trend of rising antisemitism and hate. An attack on Jewish people is an attack on all of us who believe in a diverse, pluralistic society. While I remain hopeful that justice will ultimately prevail, the rise of a new generation of racists and neo-Nazis emboldened by extreme rhetoric suggests a long road ahead.
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Summary: Antisemitism is on the rise in the United States, as evidenced by tragic events like the Pittsburgh synagogue shooting. This increase in hate crimes affects not only Jewish individuals but also raises concerns for all who value diversity and pluralism in society. The interconnectedness of various forms of bigotry highlights the urgency to address these issues collectively.