Originally printed in The Algemeiner and reprinted here with permission.
This year, I had the privilege of marching in the Israel Day Parade, representing Scout 613 of the Boy Scouts of America. We were placed near the front, right behind the politicians. On paper, it was a picture-perfect day. The sun was out. The flags were flying. The energy among those walking was strong.
But something was missing. And it wasn’t just the noise.
It’s been 28 years since I last walked the parade — back when I was a student filled with pride, purpose, and surrounded by roaring crowds. This time, it felt like we were marching through a ghost town — a seemingly impossible task given that it took place in the heart of Manhattan, the city that never sleeps.
Fifth Avenue, usually packed shoulder-to-shoulder with supporters waving flags and singing Am Yisrael Chai, was practically empty. The celebration felt more like a private procession than a public show of unity. This was obviously done in order to promote security, but by doing so, some of the historical objectives of the parade were lost.
In the past, the average New Yorker could experience what celebrating Israel meant to so many of their fellow New Yorkers, and they could potentially learn something about Israel.
Additionally, the average parade marcher could feel the palpable energy from the crowd and both the marcher and the parade goer could benefit from each other’s enthusiasm.
The feeling among many of us was that this parade wasn’t really for the public anymore. It was for the people walking in it, and for the headline afterwards -— that there was a parade and that many people participated in it. And maybe, given today’s climate, that’s what it needed to be.
Let’s be honest: the Israel Day Parade wasn’t just a celebration this year. It was a statement. A statement that we will not be silenced. That we will not disappear. That we are still here, proudly and defiantly, even in a city that now feels more complicated than ever for Jews.
The organizers, together with the New York Police Department, made a calculated decision: maximize safety and minimize exposure. Better to have a quiet, secure event than risk violence, protests, or worse. It’s hard to argue with that logic. One incident could’ve overshadowed the entire day, and handed the antisemites and Israel-bashers the headline they crave.
But that choice comes at a cost. Because what we got instead was a hollow version of what this parade used to be. A sterilized, overly protected shell. There was no crackling electricity from the crowds.
As a father, I was still glad to be there. My kids walked with pride. They’ll remember it. It still mattered. But let’s not pretend this was business as usual. It wasn’t.
We are living through a moment of unprecedented pressure on Jewish identity in America, especially in cities like New York. The parade used to be an unapologetic celebration. This year, it felt like an act of resistance dressed up as a march.
Still, I hope that in future years, as tensions ease and the world regains some sanity, we’ll once again see the Israel Day Parade return to its full spirit. Full crowds. Full voices. Full hearts.
For now, a parade is better than no parade. But let’s not lose sight of what we’ve lost — and what we need to fight to get back.
