The following essay was supposed to run as an op-ed on the Opinion page of the local daily newspaper.

Tonight, I wrote to the editor and asked him to pull it from the paper.

Why?

Because I am afraid. I am afraid of the sickening upswell of worldwide antisemitism. On the pages of the New York Times. At the Eurovision contest. On the streets of New York. In cities and towns everywhere. All over the internet.

Here is the original essay:

I am just like you. I live in a Florida neighborhood. We sometimes have gators in the pond behind my house, sometimes not. The Amazon truck can be seen around here pretty regularly.

I walk my dog in the neighborhood. I drive to the grocery store, the drug store, and the gas station, where I sigh at the price of gas, along with everyone else.

I go to work, movies, restaurants, the beach (sometimes).

I wear a small religious symbol around my neck which sometimes slips under my shirt and sometimes doesn’t.

Most of the people in my neighborhood speak with an American accent like me, but not everyone. Most are White like me, but not everyone.

I am just like you. Except that lately, I’ve become wary around you. Sometimes even afraid.

Because ugly words are flying around, seemingly everywhere. Swastikas painted on homes and businesses and places of worship. A man drove his truck down the hallway of building to kill preschoolers. People set ambulances on fire because they had Hebrew lettering on them. Normal citizens stabbed and shot. People praising — celebrating! — violence against Jews.

Why? Not because there was a war with the people in Gaza. That’s an excuse. Attacks have been happening to Jews for years, decades, centuries. The war with Gaza is the latest excuse.

Antisemitism has been called the oldest hatred. I cannot explain it. But I just returned from an overseas trip with 10 strangers, and learned something: Not one of them had Jewish friends.

None of these 10 Americans knew any Jews at all. From Seattle to Wyoming to Detroit to Nashville to San Diego to New Mexico. No neighbors. No acquaintances. No one.

I once heard about a rabbi who went on a cruise and told people that he was a plumber. I don’t blame him. On my trip, I identified myself as a Jew and rabbi, for better or worse.

I discovered that people were curious about me. Especially about why I didn’t eat pork. They couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t, since trichinosis isn’t an issue anymore.

Victor Frankl once said, quoting Nietzche, “He who has a why to live, can bear any how.”

My “why” for living is to serve my community, and by so doing, to serve God.

And when I say community, I don’t just mean the Jewish community. I mean my neighbors too. And you. Whoever you are. Wherever you live, whatever you believe.

If you’re curious and don’t know a Jewish person to ask your questions, ask me. I’ll do my best to answer.

——-

It was that last paragraph that made me pull the article. Because I can’t trust that people will be reasonable, kind, or simply curious. I am learning to be afraid. And that in itself is terrifying.