Local opinion: What I learned when hate hit home

Sometimes, a hostile act meant to intimidate and dishearten its target can unexpectedly and almost miraculously lead to beautiful results. Our community experienced this in the aftermath of our discovering antisemitic graffiti defacing the wall of Chabad Tucson-Young Israel, Arizona’s first Orthodox Jewish synagogue, on Tuesday, April 22.

Those who scrawled the words “End Apartheid” and “Abolish Israel” beneath a large Star of David on our wall could not have known that their hateful message would spark a wave of heartwarming gestures and community unity.

Here is what transpired — and the five lessons I’ve taken from it.

1. Antisemitism doesn’t shock us anymore.

After discovering what occurred, I couldn’t help but compare it to an earlier incident: Three years ago, another Chabad center in Tucson was vandalized with a swastika and a hateful slur. That attack made national news and drew widespread condemnation. This time, there was anger and sadness, but not surprise. Antisemitic incidents in the U.S. have now broken records for the fourth year in a row. According to the ADL, there were more than 25 targeted anti-Jewish incidents per day in 2024 — that’s more than one every hour. It’s become all too common.

2. We found unlikely allies.

Antisemitism has risen sharply since the Hamas attack on October 7, 2023, and Israel’s war for defense and hostage rescue. We find little common ground with organizations like the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) and their anti-Israel stance. However, when our synagogue was attacked, CAIR Arizona’s Executive Director, Azza Abuseif, issued a strong statement of support: “We condemn this act of vandalism targeting a house of worship and express our solidarity with the Arizona Jewish community. No faith community should face such inexcusable harassment or intimidation.” Additionally, a local Christian woman as well as a Muslim man from Austin, Texas, sent flowers to our synagogue. This shows that even in divided times, we can share common values.

3. Covering up a crime doesn’t solve it.

Shortly after the graffiti was discovered, a well-meaning man taped white garbage bags over the messages to hide them from view. But the police, who were still investigating, quickly removed the bags. The Torah teaches, “You shall not hate your brother in your heart. You shall surely rebuke your fellow” (Leviticus 19:17). We are commanded to confront difficult truths head-on — not to suppress or avoid them. We chose to expose the damage so that we could remove it properly, with intention and care.

4. The hate brought people together.

Helping to remove the graffiti were an eclectic mix of people — Jewish and non-Jewish alike. They brought a ladder, paint rollers and brushes, ScrubDaddy sponges, power tools, cans of paint, and even industrial-strength graffiti remover. “Our peoples have a shared history of suffering,” a Black man commented as he got to work. Among the volunteers were members of the AEPi Jewish fraternity at the University of Arizona. I overheard one of them speaking with a commercial real estate broker who was also there. The conversation ended with the broker offering the student a summer internship.

5. Hate was answered with kindness.

In our statement to the media, we called on the public to rise above hate by increasing acts of goodness and kindness — mitzvot that spread light in dark times. The response exceeded expectations. Jews who have not been religious came to wrap tefillin, pray with us, study Torah, and donate to charity. One of them was a man named Alex. He told me, “If anything is needed, always feel free to reach out.” A few days later, we had a funeral for an elderly woman at a remote cemetery and needed a tenth man to form the minyan to say the Kaddish memorial prayer. I called Alex, and he showed up. The grieving family was deeply grateful.

The hateful graffiti is long gone, but the ripple effect of kindness, solidarity, and action continues to shine — just like the clean white wall that now stands in its place.