"It's better to hide it. I know who I am and I'm proud of my identity, but who knows who will look at me the wrong way," a Jewish American friend told me without hesitation, just a few days ago. We were heading for a night out and as he got out of the car, he tucked the Star of David pendant he always wears inside his shirt.
But what he presented as a minor action that was supposed to head off any potential trouble is actually a warning sign about an increasingly dark, troubling reality in the Land of Freedom and Opportunity: If you're Jewish, you'd better not show it.
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As someone who was raised in Israel, I remember the friendly advice before any trip abroad not to speak Hebrew and to lie and tell any curious taxi drivers that I was from somewhere else. But living as an Israeli and Jew in the US today demands the same level of caution on a daily basis, which is a constant reminder of the threats lurking just around the corner and showing no signs of disappearing.
The people who hate us are still here, and we must never take the calm for granted or make the mistake of thinking that we are not in danger. In America, the new normal is a constant threat.
I recently visited the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh to attend the one-year anniversary of the shooting there. The rabbi and his staff took care to repeat the mantra "Stronger than Hate," but they also admitted that on the High Holidays, worshippers had to reserve places ahead of time and go through security on their way to pray.
At the synagogue in Poway, California, which was targeted by an anti-Semitic shooting in April, I was told that they are focusing on bolstering the community after the tragedy and that, fearing for their safety, they were denying requests for media coverage.
Xenophobia is once again raising its ugly head, reminding us how we have forever been in the crosshairs of those who loathe us. Times change, technology marches on, and the world never stops turning. But anti-Semitism is here to stay.
