American Jews cope with the fallout a year after the Oct. 7 attacks

BALA CYNWYD, Pa. — American Jews are buying guns more often. They're going to Shabbat dinners and synagogues more often. They're debating about Israel and antisemitism — topics many had set to the side in recent decades — more often.

A year ago, Hamas's Oct. 7 terrorist attacks on Israel set off war in the Middle East. In the United States, the surprise assault and Israel's countering invasion of the Gaza Strip prompted mass protests on city streets and at colleges across the nation. For many of the nation's 7.5 million Jews, the year has led to concerns over whether they are securely woven into the fabric of American life. In the intense anger directed by protesters at the Jewish state and in some cases at Jews, many of the nearly three-dozen American Jews interviewed by The Washington Post saw antisemitism they thought had long ago subsided or at minimum wasn't acceptable to voice.

Some feel newly committed to the state of Israel; some struggle to distinguish a deep connection to Israel from a government there that many dislike. Others are even more fiercely against Israel's war in Gaza due to the death toll among civilians. And for some who didn't feel particularly connected to the Jewish state, it has been a year of more confidently trying to claim space in American Jewish life.

Still others are seeking the meaning of the moment in spirituality, and some rabbis say they've seen more conversions to Judaism in the past year than at any recent time.

"A lot of people who didn't look at the world through a Jewish lens now do," said Burt Siegel, who hosts a radio talk show on Jewish news and lives north of Philadelphia.

For some, the trauma of the past year narrows to a point: Are they safe?

"My staff keeps joking it's like the Jewish Community Center around here," said Grant Schmidt, an observant Jew who runs Shot Tec, a firearms training and retail business in Bala Cynwyd, a suburb of Philadelphia in the swing state with the largest Jewish population. After Oct. 7, sales — many to Jews — shot up so much that credit card firms blocked what they thought were sketchily large amounts of transactions, he said. That Jewish surge matches anecdotes from across the country, according to the National Shooting Sports Foundation, a firearms industry group.

"They're doing so much soul-searching right now. They're all over the place, mentally, emotionally, psychologically. It would be comical if it wasn't so sad. In some way, shape or form, everyone feels on their own," Schmidt said. Jewish institutions — schools, synagogues, camps — that a year ago didn't want security guards to wear uniforms, he said, now ask that they openly carry rifles.

"People are getting more into their identities. It's like: 'Like it or not, you're Jewish, so own it.'"

Seth Zwillenberg, 67, a Philadelphia-area doctor, said watching campus protesters nearby shout slogans last spring including "There is only one solution, intifada revolution" was extremely jarring.

"Who thought about antisemitism in America? We knew default was: Some non-Jews hate us. But who thought about it? You knew there were a few cranks on both sides but not mainstreamed on both sides," he said. "I'm angry, and I'm scared."

The FBI last month said anti-Jewish hate crimes in 2023 reached their highest number since data collection began in 1991, and made up 68 percent of all religion-based hate crimes, even as less than 3 percent of the U.S. population identifies as Jewish. But some have been impacted by the issues of antisemitism and security very differently from Schmidt.

Shayna Stein, 25, who works at a Phoenix Starbucks, was stunned over the past year as protesters assailed Jewish businesses and people as stand-ins for their anger at Israel. While that has stayed with her, she said, she thinks of it as part of a bigger issue — the rise of different hates in America. That led her to participate for the first time in interfaith vigils, including prayer events for peace in the Mideast.

"I've felt more of a calling — or a demand — from my Jewishness this year, to figure out what we can bring to this moment when everyone is so scared and hateful of each other," she said.

Siegel, the radio host, said he thinks the focus on antisemitism and security can be dangerous if it goes overboard.

"I try to teach my kids to love being Jewish. It's a heritage and a tradition we have an obligation to pass on. There is a tendency on the part of some to scare the hell out of kids," he said.

To some historians of American Judaism, Oct. 7 didn't create wholesale change or new questions, but instead simply revealed — or made unavoidable — preexisting issues.

Joshua Leifer, a Yale University historian who has written for liberal Jewish magazines, in August published "Tablets Shattered: The End of an American Jewish Century and the Future of Jewish Life," which has been drawing crowds at synagogues and bookstores across the country. Almost all of the book, he told The Post, was written before Oct. 7. He argues that the pillars of mainstream American Judaism had been cracking for decades.

Among them, Leifer argues, is the idea that the United States is one of the best places to be a Jew. That idea is challenged by the rise in hate from the extreme right and left since the Trump years and America's resistance to facing its long history of racial oppression, he said. He also said the growing distance of many American Jews from any practice or affiliation with their faith raises questions about whether liberal, individualistic Judaism could thrive in America.

"It's fair to say now something has changed," Leifer said. "Oct. 7 has made those questions unavoidable, about what being Jewish means. American Judaism's holiday from history is over."

What it means to be Jewish has long varied. A 2021 Pew Research study of American Jews found 85 percent said they had a "great deal of" (48 percent) or "some" (37 percent) connection to Jewish peoplehood. Fifty-nine percent said they had a lot or some in common with Jews in Israel. And more than half said "religion" was not important in their lives.

But a survey since last Oct. 7, done by the American Jewish Committee this spring, found 45 percent of American Jews saying after the Oct. 7 attacks that they feel more connected to Israel, compared with 19 percent who felt less connected. Forty-eight percent said they felt more connected to their Jewish identity, including 20 percent who said "much more." Only 4 percent said they felt less connected.

The anniversary Monday falls during one of the most communal and observed periods of the Jewish year — 10 days called the High Holidays, or the Days of Repentance. From Rosh Hashanah, which began Oct. 2, the start of the Jewish calendar's new year, to the fasting day of Yom Kippur, the focus of Jews is on repentance, self-improvement and humility before God about the reality of death.

Eric Fingerhut, CEO of the Jewish Federations of North America, the largest umbrella group for U.S. Jewish institutions, said the past year has seen "a surge" of Jewish involvement in communal life, from people coming to lectures and services to putting their kids in Jewish schools or camps.

In that sense, he said, it's a moment of opportunity for Jewish identity and connection to grow. He compared the new efforts against antisemitism to the national security mindset shift in America after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks.

"This is such a dramatic existential moment for the Jewish community. It used to be [local Jewish institutions] would have an annual event [about antisemitism] with your state legislators. Now we're engaging with school boards, universities, labor unions, churches, legal and legislative areas," he said. "We are among the most fortunate generations in 4,000 years of the Jewish people, but we now see the potential if we're not careful."

Joel Rubin, a deputy assistant secretary of state under Barack Obama who led Jewish outreach for Bernie Sanders's 2020 presidential run, said that in his view "the Jewish community is still off-balance. we're still trying to find our footing about where we stand in American society."

One aspect of the year, he said, has been left-leaning Jews — who are the majority in the United States — feeling out of place, misunderstood or rejected from their longtime, liberal non-Jewish communities which in many cases have heaped blame and outrage about the Middle East war on Israel.

Rubin, who lives in Montgomery County, Md., said his talks with his three daughters have been a balancing act.

"I listen to them and they're also very much trying to understand this," he said. "They're very concerned about the occupation and also about the loss of Palestinian life, and also don't understand why people think Israel shouldn't exist. What we want is our kids to be able to strongly support Israel and also be Jewish and be humanitarian."

"I'm not going to be like: 'Oh, just deal with Israel's horribleness.' That's not me. We also shouldn't have to be like: 'Oh, I'm so sorry I support Israel.'"

Nancy Margolis, 58, a writing specialist from Wayne, Pa., said she has found herself saying silent prayers more in the past year.

A spiritual person, she hadn't connected that to her Jewish identity — which is more cultural and historical. But now she wonders if they are mingling in a new way. Her prayers since last Oct. 7 are often about Israel, and she wonders more whether her prayers are "Jewish."

The biggest effect of the year, she said, is a silence from non-Jewish friends, and a reluctance on her part to raise things. A busy Facebook user, Margolis posted nothing about the Jewish new year this year. And none of her non-Jewish friends acknowledged the holiday to her, either.

"Normally I'm the kind of person who is like: 'It's not about you, Nancy.' But I definitely noticed. This year there is some fear, and some sadness."