Local opinion: Public, unambiguous solidarity needed to fight antisemitism

For those who have never visited, the Jewish Community Campus in Tucson is more than a building. It is a hub where families, Jewish and non-Jewish, send children to school, where seniors gather, where Tucsonans go to work, where everyday life happens.

On Monday morning, staff at our Jewish Community Campus discovered antisemitic flyers posted on the campus. This came just a day after the deadly massacre at a Hanukkah gathering on the beach in Sydney, Australia, an event that shook Jewish communities everywhere.

One of the first questions we received, often from well-meaning members of the broader community, was: “What did the flyers say?”

That question, while a natural curiosity, is sometimes dangerous. It assumes that there is some wording, some specific phrasing, that could turn an act of intimidation of the Jewish community into a "legitimate political expression."

First, let me be clear: the flyers were unambiguously antisemitic. They targeted Jews as Jews. But even if they had been framed as political commentary, the act of posting them around a Jewish community space, a few hours after the deadly attack in Sydney, is what matters. It’s the intent - the violation of the places where Jewish life happens. The act is the message, and the message is clear: "We know where you are. We know where you gather. You're not safe.”

The goal is to make Jews in Tucson retreat. It is to make members of our community think twice before putting a menorah in the window, wearing a Star of David, or bringing ourselves or our children to Jewish spaces. And once the Jewish community retreats from public spaces, once we become invisible, that's when it becomes easy to hate and to ‘other’ us. It is easier to hate what you don't see, and when you don't know a people firsthand. It becomes a vacuum for misinformed ideas and assumptions. Erasure is precisely what they - the haters - want.

Tucson's Jewish community is a vital part of the city and has been here for centuries; we've built businesses, infrastructure, and cultural institutions all over Arizona. We are your neighbors, coworkers, doctors, teachers, small business owners - your friends.

I don’t know an instant cure for antisemitism - there is none for this or for other bad ideas like prejudice. Antisemitism is a virus that mutates over time and infects those who harbor it with hate, and those on the receiving end with hurt.

But what I do know is that silence in its face is fuel.

When people tolerate Jew-hatred in social conversations, or stay silent when hate appears in public spaces, they tolerate an environment where Jews don't feel safe - regardless of their intent. An environment where the question becomes "What exactly did the flyers say?" rather than, "How is this even acceptable?”

Vague statements rejecting antisemitism without mentioning Jews can feel like avoidance. And that avoidance sends a message to Jewish families and to those who intimidate them that this isn't serious enough to confront directly.

Hanukkah is the holiday of lights. It represents the moral clarity that helps us draw lines between darkness and light. In the days ahead, I invite more of Tucson’s civic leaders, educators, and elected officials to join us in two simple ways: Name antisemitism clearly and publicly and stand with the Jewish community visibly.

There will be more moments like this, and in those moments, your presence reassures, and your clear words will matter. The opposite of antisemitic intimidation isn't quiet concern. It’s public and unambiguous solidarity.