It is not often that reading a book evokes feelings of anger and rage, but this is what happened when I read “The Last Ships from Hamburg” by Steven Ujifusa, which outlined the escape of millions of Jews from Russia over a century ago amidst horrendous persecutions and unimaginable massacres. It is a good book that shows the history of our people in the past, but perhaps the convergence between my personal story and our people’s history is what got to me. I felt suddenly as if I had found my life in the pages of the book and in the traces of the story of our people. That touched me deeply.

The age-old story of Jew hatred, for which millions of apologetic and excruciating words have been engraved on our collective hearts, still leaves me stunned and confused by the ridiculousness of the explanations.

According to the internet, these are some explanations for antisemitism:

Religious differences; scapegoating Jews in times of crises; political exploitation against Jews to divert attention from leaders’ failures; economic myths and envy; Jews becoming stereotypes of greed, leading to further jealousies and resentments; Jews forced into ghettos furthering cultural isolation; portraying Jews as conspiring for world dominance. Refusing to convert, Jews were seen as the antichrist, the infidel, the alien and the cause of misfortune, which led to their persecution; forcing Jews into poverty, portrayed them as spreading disease and malfeasance; eugenic race theories classified Jews as an inferior race; perceived as superior and labeled the “chosen people,” fostered resentment; assimilation led to fears of impacting the upper classes; accusations of double loyalties; resentments over Jews calling for modernization and emancipation.

It feels overwhelming in its absurdity, and that is exactly the point. How can it be that Jews were blamed for being both poor and rich, for being isolationists and for wanting to assimilate, for being the lowliest and the chosen people at the same time?

You’re probably thinking that there’s nothing new here; I’ve read dozens of these depressing self-reflections. But if we’ve learned anything from our past, it is that being fatigued and blasé is an indulgence we cannot afford.

For me antisemitism is personal. Growing up Jewish in Romania in the 1950s, life was rough. My father was thrown in jail for wanting to go to Israel, my mother died unable to attain proper medical services, and I was banned from receiving an honorary award in elementary school. At one time, as my father recalled, he couldn’t afford medication for my sick mom, couldn’t get milk to feed my baby brother since my mom couldn’t nurse him, and couldn’t buy wood to heat up the apartment when I was sick with pneumonia. I cry inside when I think about this.

Subsequently, moving to Israel and growing up in the early 1960s taught me to channel all my energy into becoming a strong, proud Israeli. I became a soldier and managed to overcome the pain caused by the antisemitism of my early years. So why revive old feelings now?

The global anti-Israel hostilities following the October 7 brutal Hamas attack has awakened in many of us a feeling of deja vu. On the anniversary of our modern age pogrom, we can’t help but ask: Will Jews be a free-for-all target once again?

That is where Ujifusa’s book caught me, recognizing how the current protesting crowds that harass us and call for our demise are repeating the pogroms of old. I recently saw the Israeli opera, “Theodor” (based on the life of Theodor Herzl), which further brought this to light. While the two millennia of Jewish persecution is well-documented, it is still difficult to comprehend. In Russia, it was common to stage pogroms against Jews (over 800 in one year) while at the same time, young Jewish men were being conscripted into the Tzar’s army. Similarly, throughout the rest of Europe, even among countries where they lived in “relative comfort,” Jews were harassed, confined to ghettos and barred from most occupations.

The very thought of it makes me ill.

These conditions spawned Jewish emigration, en masse, to America, and launched the Zionist movement, which led to the establishment of the State of Israel. Yet Jew hatred has returned with a vengeance, prompting harassment and violence against Jews across the United States.

This cataclysm is forcing us to answer the following question: How to be a good Jew in our post-October 7 world?

While I am a fan of the old saying, “the best revenge is living well,” the senselessness of this virulent hate evokes a rage within me, a reawakening of an inextinguishable fire that wants to avenge my people’s suffering as well as my own. Still, what do I hope to accomplish in venting my pain and frustration, sentiments most of us are familiar with these days?

I realize these are challenging times, and sharing our feelings is not only relegated to venting but is also a way to bond together around our common experience, perspective and resolve for the future of our people. Yet beyond that, I feel that we must take action. My answer is simple: “Good Jews” accept the responsibility of looking out for other Jews. As it says: “All Jews are guarantors for one another.”

Jews all over the world celebrated Simchat Torah this year, remembering the hostages and the murdered, the injured and the fallen, knowing that the story of our people continues and that its enemies have failed again. Yet, no longer is complacency acceptable—each of us living our lives with minimal contribution to the larger Jewish nation. We must expand our small communal involvement outside of our immediate circles to support Israel and the Jewish people and to fight off our haters. Considering the price Israelis have been paying to defend our land, this is the least we can do.

Choose an area close to your heart and do what is needed to defend Israel and the Jewish people. And remember that unity must be a priority. Anything less, is no longer viable.

Soli now lives in the U.S., but he was born in Romania and later lived in the Israeli boarding school, Hadasim, as part of the Aliyat Hanoar. He served in the Israeli Air Force and graduated with a degree in architecture from the Technion. After settling in Jaffa, he moved to the U.S. and owned several businesses. He has been married for 40 years and is the father of four and grandfather of eight..