During last year’s rash of anti-Semitic bomb threats, I anonymously sent flowers to our local Jewish school. I wanted to perform a random act of kindness and solidarity without “making it about me.” Instead, the recipients were frightened when they saw no name on the card. Was this a gift, or some masked threat? When the florist called, I felt awful. Lesson learned — to be a true ally, you can’t be anonymous.
I attended a vigil for Jews and allies at the local synagogue on a recent Saturday night. I looked in the faces of people who had heard the news about Pittsburgh that morning during services, in the same room where we now gathered. They worried about how they would protect their families if a gunman came in the doors I had just been welcomed through.
This country touts the notion that we were founded on the promise of religious liberty. Shame on us all if we are willing to accept the myth that only armed guards are a viable solution to keep those people safe in their own house of worship. We can, and should, expect much more from one another and our country.
It amazed me that these people, to whom history has given every excuse to withdraw, instead spoke of doubling down on their beliefs during that vigil. I am the daughter of an Irish Catholic and a Scandinavian Protestant, and I never felt more hope and compassion in a house of worship until my visit to that synagogue. They quoted Elie Wiesel, saying that when all hope is lost, it is our responsibility to create new hope. They heard that Tree of Life was targeted for participating in a refugee-themed service, and spoke about being more committed to refugee rights.
I mourn the murders in Pittsburgh not only because human life is precious, but because, if anything, this world needs more of these people right now, not fewer. Allies now need to show Jews that they do not carry this burden alone — with our voices, hearts, actions and votes. Because to be a true ally, you can’t be anonymous.
Lauren Duffy
Leeds