One of the most common arguments I hear ...

One of the most common arguments I hear ...

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One of the most common arguments I hear against making Aliyah is, “Why would I move to Israel? It's too dangerous.” Since October 7, that objection has become even more common. At first glance, it seems reasonable. Israel lives under the constant threat of terrorism, rockets, and war.

But is that really the whole picture? Or have we confused the headlines with reality?

Israel dominates the international news whenever there is a terrorist attack or military operation. What rarely makes the evening news is the daily reality facing many Jewish communities throughout the Diaspora. America records well over a million violent crimes each year. Across Europe, Canada, Australia, and South Africa, Jewish institutions have dramatically increased security in response to rising antisemitism. The details differ from country to country, but the trend is unmistakable. More and more Jews are asking a question that many believed had been answered generations ago: “Are we truly safe here?”

The contrast in Israel is striking. One of the first things visitors notice is that children routinely travel by bus between neighborhoods and even cities on their own. Teenagers move about independently, and strangers instinctively look after one another. If a child appears lost or in trouble, people step in without hesitation.

Israeli society still functions much like one extended family. That sense of communal responsibility creates a reality that statistics alone cannot fully explain.

For me, this discussion is deeply personal. Over the years, I have responded to the aftermath of some of the most traumatic attacks against Jewish communities in recent history, including the Tree of Life massacre in Pittsburgh, the attack in Bondi, Australia, and the atrocities of October 7 in Israel. I have stood with shattered communities, comforted grieving families, and witnessed firsthand the painful process of rebuilding lives after unimaginable violence. Those experiences have taught me something that statistics alone never could: the debate over whether Jewish communities in the Diaspora need serious security is over. They do.

Perhaps the clearest indication that Jewish life in the Diaspora has fundamentally changed is not found in crime statistics at all, but in what has happened to our synagogues and schools. Following Pittsburgh, Bondi, and especially October 7, Jewish institutions throughout North America and increasingly across Europe, Australia, and South Africa have become fortified. Reinforced doors, security cameras, panic buttons, controlled entrances, armed guards, and active-shooter drills have become the new normal. Many Jews today instinctively identify the nearest exit before they even sit down to pray.

An entirely new Jewish self-defense movement has emerged in response. Organizations and personalities such as Lox & Loaded, Armed & Orthodox, The Tactical Rabbi, The Gun Rabbi, and countless local initiatives now provide firearms safety and self-defense training specifically for Jewish communities. In my hometown of Pittsburgh, we even established the Shalosh Shooters Club. As an N.R.A-certified firearms instructor and range safety officer, I wholeheartedly support responsible firearms ownership and proper training. But the real story is not that Jews are learning to defend themselves. The real story is why they increasingly feel they have to. When an extensive Jewish self-defense infrastructure becomes necessary, it is difficult to argue that exile remains as safe and secure as many once believed.

The change has not been limited to physical security. Under the banner of anti-Zionism or anti-Israel activism, rhetoric that often serves as a vehicle for antisemitism has become increasingly acceptable. Legitimate criticism of Israeli government policies is one thing.

Harassing Jewish students, intimidating Jewish neighborhoods, vandalizing Jewish businesses, or denying only the Jewish people the right to national self-determination is something entirely different. Many Jews increasingly find themselves wondering whether they are being judged for what Israel does—or simply for being Jewish.

Of course, we cannot discuss this subject honestly without addressing the elephant in the room: October 7. It was the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. The pain and trauma of that day will remain with us forever. Yet October 7 should not be seen as proof that Jews do not belong in Israel. If anything, it demonstrates exactly why we do. For nearly two thousand years, Jews depended on the goodwill of foreign governments for their survival. Sometimes those governments protected us. Sometimes they failed. Sometimes they became our persecutors.

In Israel, that equation has changed forever. We have our own army, our own police, and our own intelligence services. When mistakes are made, they are ours to investigate, ours to correct, and ours to ensure never happen again. Push comes to shove, Jews are protecting Jews.

Yet perhaps this entire discussion misses the deeper point. I am not suggesting that Jews should move to Israel because the Diaspora has suddenly become dangerous. Jews have experienced periods of relative peace and periods of terrible persecution throughout our long exile. Neither ever changed the fundamental reality that exile was never intended to be our permanent home.

The greatest long-term threat facing world Jewry may not be terrorism at all. America and other Western democracies have blessed Jews with unprecedented freedom and opportunity. But they have also become extraordinary melting pots. Outside the Orthodox community, intermarriage has reached remarkably high levels, and countless Jewish families have gradually disappeared through assimilation. Entire family lines that survived expulsions, pogroms, and even the Holocaust are now being lost peacefully over the course of a generation or two. Terrorism can murder Jews. Assimilation can erase future generations of Jews. One destroys lives; the other quietly destroys continuity.

Some readers will view the rebirth of Israel primarily through the lens of biblical prophecy and redemption. Others will see it as the fulfillment of the Zionist dream or the greatest national achievement in modern Jewish history. Still others may simply recognize it as the safest place to build a Jewish future. Whatever language we choose, one reality cannot be denyed: for the first time in nearly two thousand years, the Jewish people once again have a sovereign homeland with open doors.

Israel is not free from danger. No country is. But perhaps we have been asking the wrong question all along. The question is not whether Israel is more dangerous than America, Canada, Europe, Australia, or South Africa. The question is whether we recognize the extraordinary moment in Jewish history in which we are living. For generations, returning home was a dream. Today, it is a choice. Whether we understand that choice through faith, history, or simple common sense, it is a choice that previous generations could only pray for.

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