This past Friday was a beautiful day in central New Jersey. My wife decided to take the kids to a nearby park for a few hours – a friend had recommended it.
The park did not disappoint. My children were having a wonderful time. One of my sons was on the swings with his younger brother nearby when a group of ten 14-year-old boys rode over on their bikes and began bothering them.
At first, it seemed like nothing more than typical teenage mischief. When one of my older children stepped in and asked them what they were doing, the boys backed off.
But within a few minutes they returned. This time, with words.
“Heil Hitler.”
“Dirty Jew.”
My children were stunned.
Growing up in a predominantly Jewish community, they had never personally encountered antisemitism. To them, antisemitism belonged to history books and faraway places. It was something associated with the Holocaust, with Communist Russia, with attacks in Paris and London. Not here. Not in a park in New Jersey.
In a strange way, my children’s shock was itself a testament to the blessing of the world they have known.
Yet it was also a painful reminder. Antisemitism has not disappeared. It has merely changed addresses. Sometimes it marches in the streets. Sometimes it hides behind a keyboard. And sometimes it arrives on a bicycle at a neighborhood playground located in a comfortable upper class neighborhood teeming with manicured lawns and swimming pools. In all likelihood, these children come from educated families. Their parents are college graduates, professionals, successful members of society.
And yet, when these kids encountered visibly Jewish children enjoying a sunny afternoon in the park, something inside them turned toward hatred.
I don’t know where these boys were exposed to such Jew hatred – if it was online, or inside their homes.
But one thing is clear: antisemitism is not just a fringe phenomenon. It’s being passed from one generation to the next around dinner tables, in living rooms, and in casual conversations that children absorb far more readily than adults realize.
That should concern every decent person, Jewish or not.
We often comfort ourselves by imagining that education and affluence are natural antidotes to prejudice. History has repeatedly shown otherwise. Hatred can flourish in poverty and prosperity alike. It can wear the face of ignorance, but it can also wear the face of sophistication.
My children were shaken by what happened. We eventually contacted the police and took the incident seriously. And once the initial shock wore off, I sat them down and spoke to them about the age old reality of antisemitism.
I did not present them as victims. On the contrary, I wanted them to understand something far more important.
I spoke to them about values, about kindness and tolerance. About treating every human being with dignity, regardless of their background, beliefs, or appearance. I spoke to them about the privilege of growing up in a home where compassion is celebrated, where helping others is admired, and where respect is not reserved only for those who look or think like we do.
Then I asked them to consider the contrast.
Here were children their own age who apparently found entertainment in humiliating strangers and spewing hatred. And here were my children, whose idea of a good afternoon was playing peacefully in a park, enjoying the sunshine, and spending time together.
My kids learned that being Jewish means carrying a story far older and far stronger than the people who oppose it.
Which life would they rather live? Which values would they rather carry with them?
If my children are going to encounter antisemitism, and sadly, in today’s America it seems increasingly likely that they will at some point, then I want those moments to strengthen them rather than weaken them.
My children learned that hatred still exists. They discovered that there are people who will judge them before knowing them.
And they also learned that being Jewish means carrying a story far older and far stronger than the people who oppose it. A story of resilience, faith, family, learning, and hope. A story that has outlived every empire, every tyrant, and every movement that sought to erase it.
The boys left with their hatred. My children left with pride in their identity.
If history is any guide, only one of those things is built to last.
