We Are Still Here: A Call to Stand for Humanity

By: Stacey Dorenfeld, President, HSC Northern Area

I am angry.

I am angry about the rise in antisemitism that no longer hides behind whispers or coded language, but announces itself loudly in classrooms, online spaces, city streets, and public discourse. 

I am angry that Jews are once again being asked to justify our existence, our grief, and our right to live in peace. 

I am angry that the fate of my people continues to be debated by those who have never had to live with the consequences of those debates.

Each time I blink, there is another antisemitic episode. Another headline. Another slur spray-painted on a wall. Another threat shouted in public. Another excuse made for behavior that would never be tolerated if directed at anyone else. The pace is relentless. The normalization is terrifying.

We all deserve lives of peace and calm. That should not be a radical statement. And yet for Jews, history has taught us that peace is fragile and calm is often conditional. Safety itself begins to feel like an abstract concept rather than a lived reality.

So, I find myself asking a question I never thought I would need to ask so often: What is safety?
Is it lowering your voice?
Is it hiding a Star of David beneath your shirt?
Is it choosing silence over truth to avoid backlash?

Because if safety requires erasure, then it is not safety at all.

I will wear my Star of David necklace proudly. I will never hide who I am. Hiding will not stop the hate. It will only create more space for it to grow. 

Antisemitism does not disappear when Jews make themselves invisible. It sharpens. It feeds on silence and absence. Visibility is not recklessness. It is resistance. It is a refusal to let fear dictate identity.

The horrific shootings in Australia and at Brown University are not isolated incidents. They are part of a larger and deeply troubling pattern, one in which antisemitism is normalized, excused, or reframed as something understandable or justified. When hateful rhetoric goes unchecked, it does not remain theoretical. Words turn into action. Ideology turns into bloodshed.

As Hadassah women, we understand something fundamental. When human beings are dehumanized, their lives become expendable. We have seen this before. We know where it leads.

Let me be clear. This is not about silencing debate or avoiding difficult conversations. Criticism of governments and policies is essential in any healthy democracy. But antisemitism is not political critique. It is a centuries-old hatred that adapts to the language of every era, always with the same goal of delegitimizing Jewish lives and denying Jewish humanity.

I am deeply disturbed by the growing willingness to romanticize terrorist organizations like Hamas and Hezbollah, wrapping brutality in the language of resistance while ignoring the devastation they leave behind. These are not movements of peace. They are not sources of light or life. They are organizations rooted in absolutism, intolerance, and violence. Groups that target civilians, suppress dissent, and glorify death.

And this matters far beyond the Jewish community.

If you are a woman who believes in autonomy over your body, this should alarm you.

If you are LGBTQ+ or believe in the right to love freely, this should alarm you.

If you value democracy, freedom of expression, and human dignity, this should alarm you.

Because these extremist ideologies do not stop with Jews. They never have. They silence women, persecute minorities, punish journalists, and destroy anyone who does not fit into their narrow and brutal worldview.

Antisemitism has always been a warning sign. When Jews are targeted, it signals a broader moral decay. Hatred does not stay contained. It spreads. It corrodes institutions, destabilizes societies, and erodes the freedoms people assume will always be there.

What frightens me almost as much as the hate itself is the silence surrounding it. The discomfort. The reluctance to speak up. The instinct to look away because the moment feels too complicated or too tense. Silence has never protected the vulnerable. Silence is not neutrality. It is permission.

Hadassah was founded on a different principle. Henrietta Szold believed in action. She believed in healing, in responsibility, and in the moral obligation to show up when others turn away. 

Hadassah has never been about standing on the sidelines. We are builders. Caregivers. Advocates. We believe in medicine, education, women’s leadership, Zionism, and the radical idea that every human life has inherent value.

This is not the time to lower our voices.
This is not the time to retreat into polite discomfort.
This is the time to stand tall, together.

Stand tall and say that Jewish lives matter, unequivocally.
Stand tall and reject terrorism in all its forms, without excuses or moral gymnastics.
Stand tall and affirm that human rights are universal, not selective.

This moment demands moral clarity. Antisemitism is not complex. Terrorism is not nuanced. The intentional targeting of civilians is not resistance. It is evil. History does not judge us by how carefully we soften our language, but by whether we had the courage to confront reality.

I am angry, but I am not hopeless.

I am hopeful because I believe in a world where hate is not amplified but buried. Buried beneath love, beneath decency, beneath courage, and beneath a collective refusal to accept cruelty as inevitable. I believe in a world where safety does not require silence, and where identity is not something to hide.

Jews have survived exile, pogroms, and genocide not because the world made room for us, but because we refused to disappear. We chose life. 

We chose community. We chose responsibility.

So let this be said clearly, without apology or fear. We will not shrink. We will not be erased. We will not surrender our humanity to those who traffic in hate. This is the moment to choose light, not only in words, but in action. To speak out, to stand firm, and to draw a moral line that cannot be blurred.

Because darkness only wins when good people step aside.

And Hadassah women do not step aside.

We stand.
We heal.
We lead.
And we are very much here.

Stacey is a member of the Hadassah Writers’ Circle, a dynamic and diverse writing group for leaders and members to express their thoughts and feelings about all the things Hadassah does to make the world a better place. It’s where they celebrate their personal Hadassah journeys and share their Jewish values, family traditions and interpretations of Jewish texts. Hadassah members are proud of their Zionist mission and their role as keepers of the flame of Jewish values, traditions and beliefs as well as advocating for women’s empowerment and health equity for all. Since 2019, the Hadassah Writers’ Circle has published nearly 800 columns in The Times of Israel Blogs and other Jewish media outlets. Interested? Please contact hwc@hadassah.org.