Are the doors locked?

Where are the cameras?

These are not thoughts I remember having years ago, before attending a preschool performance or a synagogue gathering. And yet today, they arrive automatically, quiet, instinctive, unwelcome.

Before Pesach, I attended my granddaughter’s 3-year-old program at her Jewish day school. I found myself scanning the entrance before I even reached the door. That same week, I received the Antisemitism Worldwide Report. The two moments, one deeply personal, one soberly statistical, refused to stay separate in my mind.

This shift in mindset is not anecdotal. It is reflected in the data.

The Antisemitism Worldwide Report, compiled from dozens of police departments, specialized monitoring agencies, Jewish community organizations, media reports, and field observations, paints a sobering picture. After a brief period of cautious optimism in 2024, when incidents appeared to decline following the immediate spike after October 7, that downward trend did not continue.

Twenty people were killed in four antisemitic attacks across three countries, the highest number of fatalities in more than three decades.

Even where overall incidents decreased, the reality remained troubling. In Britain, Australia, Italy, and Belgium, incidents rose. France saw fewer overall incidents, but more physical assaults. Globally, antisemitic incidents remain far above pre-war levels. Even with a slight improvement, the baseline has shifted.

For many Jewish families, this data is a lived reality. We do not just read about antisemitism; we calculate it. Before attending a synagogue event, a Jewish festival, a youth gathering, or even a preschool program, we assess the environment: looking for security, noting emergency exits, and confirming safe arrivals by text.

This normalization has a quiet but devastating cost: it reshapes how our children see Jewish identity in public. Metal detectors at school become a given, security guards at Shabbat services unremarkable. When vigilance becomes instinct, we owe it to them, and to ourselves, to name what’s been lost.

Security is now the price of living Jewish life publicly. Vigilance is necessary, but we must ask what it means when a preschool event demands caution once reserved for other places.

The Antisemitism Worldwide Report is more than numbers; it reflects the emotional state of Jewish life now. Antisemitism extends beyond moments of crisis, surfacing as vandalism, harassment, threats, or assaults. Each incident shifts our behavior: communities and institutions increase protection, while parents quietly worry.

Governments reaffirm commitment, law enforcement strengthens coordination, and communities invest in protection. These efforts matter, but persistent incidents remind us that antisemitism does not disappear by wishing it away. And yet, there is another truth.

Despite the data, Jewish schools are full. Synagogues gather. Festivals continue. Children sing at preschool events while grandparents watch, even if we glance toward the door first.

Resilience is not denial. It is the decision to show up anyway.

But resilience alone cannot be the long-term answer. The responsibility to combat antisemitism belongs not only to Jewish communities but to the societies in which we live. When Jews hesitate before entering their own communal spaces, something fundamental has shifted.

Before I walked into that preschool event, I took one more look at the security guard standing by the door. Then I went inside.

The children were singing. Parents were smiling. Life was happening. The data tells us to stay vigilant. The moment tells us to stay present. Both are true. And both will shape the Jewish future.

What we build now, the communities we strengthen, the promises we keep, and the next generation we nurture, is our answer to these numbers. This is how we make sure our grandchildren inherit not just our vigilance, but also our joy.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)