We owe it to the six million. Their memory demands more than silence and sirens. It demands unity. It demands strength. It demands that we live as one people—with one heart—even if we don’t always agree.
On Thursday morning, a siren will pierce the air in Israel.
For two minutes, the entire country will freeze—cars stop, people stand, and silence settles over the land.
We remember.
We remember the six million murdered simply for being Jews.
The mothers, fathers, children—gassed, shot, burned, starved.
Not for their ideas. Not for their politics.
But for their identity.
And as we remember, we must confront an uncomfortable truth:
It’s happening again.
Not in Auschwitz. But in Sderot. In the halls of Harvard. In the UN. On social media. In the streets of Paris, London, New York.
The world is once again showing us:
They don’t hate us because of what we believe.
They hate us because we are Jews.
Yes, they’ll make room for Jews who parrot their propaganda.
The ones who wave Palestinian flags, chant anti-Zionist slogans, and blame Israel for everything.
For now, they’re useful.
They’re the fig leaf.
But don’t be fooled.
October 7th proved what we should never have forgotten:
The real enemy doesn’t ask for your opinion before setting your house on fire.
They didn’t care who you voted for.
They didn’t care if you protested Netanyahu or supported a two-state solution.
They saw a Jew—and they butchered.
And this isn’t an opinion. It’s a fact.
They murdered and kidnapped Jews who had spent their entire lives fighting for Palestinian rights.
Volunteers who brought Gazan children into Israeli hospitals for lifesaving surgeries.
Doctors who treated Palestinian patients with compassion.
Peace activists who marched for coexistence.
They were burned alive, shot in front of their families, dragged into Gaza—as Jews.
Because to Hamas, it doesn’t matter what you stand for.
You’re still a Jew.
And that’s enough.
We must stop lying to ourselves.
Stop thinking that if we just say the right things, wear the right pins, denounce the right leaders—we’ll be safe.
We won’t.
Because the hatred runs deeper than politics.
It always has.
So now, we have a choice.
We can tear each other apart over our differences.
Or we can remember that in the eyes of our enemies, we are one.
And start acting like it.
We owe it to the six million.
They were stripped of everything—but we still have each other.
Their memory demands more than silence and sirens.
It demands unity.
It demands strength.
It demands that we live as one people—with one heart—even if we don’t always agree.
Because only together—despite our differences, because of our differences—can we stand.
Only together can we protect our people, our homeland, and our future.
We remember the past.
We open our eyes to the present.
And we commit—never again isn’t just a slogan.
It’s a strategy.
