Linda Argalgi Sadacka

Readers may remember that my father, Shlomo Salim Argalgi, a”h, passed away while I was writing my three-part series, about stories of Syrian Jews’ escape to freedom, earlier this year. What I could not do within those pages was to tell you who my father was.

My father was born in Beirut in 1938. At thirteen, he was faced with a decision  no child should be burdened with. His mother had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. The surgery that could potentially save her was dangerous. She turned to her eldest son and asked what he thought she should do.

My father told her to have the operation.

She never came home.

He knew he was not directly responsible for his mother’s death. Even so, emotion is not obedient to reason, and the decision he made haunted him for the rest of his life.

His mother’s death also taught my father what it meant to have no one firmly in your corner. Decisions about his education were made without a mother there to challenge them. Decades later, my father still remembered the injustice and had an instinct to seek out and help the person who was overlooked or was left without an advocate.

Montreal

When he arrived in Montreal in 1967, he had little materially, but he possessed intelligence, an extraordinary capacity for work, and a refusal to accept circumstances as destiny.

And then he met my mother, Gladys.

They were married for 57 years. My father adored my mother and, as his circumstances changed, he delighted in giving her beautiful things. He was a jeweler, after all.

But the diamonds came later.

First came the years when they could barely afford milk.

Buying Milk with a Prayer and Hishtadlut

My brother Morris was a baby when my mother called my father one day to tell him they had no money left to buy milk. My father had already spent the day going from jewelry store to jewelry store trying to sell his merchandise. Nobody was buying.

At that moment he turned to Hashem. He prayed that his wife and child should not suffer because he could not provide for them.

Then he tried one more store.

The owner bought everything.

It is tempting to tell that story as one about a miracle, and perhaps it was. But the part that has stayed with me is what my father did after he prayed. He picked up more merchandise and knocked on another door. Faith, for him, was never an excuse for passivity.

Success, Generosity, and Integrity

In time, the man who once could not afford milk built Importex and David Edouard into a substantial jewelry business, with an atelier [studio or workshop], more than twenty employees, and prominent clients. With limited formal education, my father taught himself English, French, and Chinese in addition to Arabic and Hebrew. And he loved history and politics.

Success gave my father the means to give. He helped open a Kollel in Montreal, donated several sifrei Torah, helped establish synagogues, and assisted people in need.

When finances were still precarious, a supplier mistakenly sent my father more pearls than he had purchased. My father returned them. Years later, a Muslim businessman accidentally left a valuable bag of gold in his office. That, too, was returned intact.

What belonged to someone else belonged to someone else.

While traveling for business, my father once helped a non-Jewish man who insisted on repaying him. My father refused.

“If one day a Jew needs your help, help him,” he told him.

The Centrality of Shul

Shul, too, was central to my father’s life. On a visit to Italy, he went to shul with a man who lived there but did not regularly attend shul. My father entered and began greeting people he knew.

The man was puzzled. How could a visitor know more people in the synagogue than someone who lived there?

“Because I go to shul,” my father replied.

To him, a synagogue was where community became visible. You learned who had a simha, who was struggling, and who needed help.

Yet, my father was anything but solemn. He danced, joked, and had a quick wit. A trip for chocolate in Montreal could become an adventure simply because he was enjoying it. He noticed beauty that the rest of us hurried past. He made ordinary life feel worth noticing.

A Devastating Stroke

Fourteen years before his death, a catastrophic stroke brought our family to a very different place. The prognosis left little room for optimism. My father was dying, and the doctors stated there was nothing left to be done. One physician was unwilling to perform the surgery that might give my father a chance.

My brother Morris refused to accept that.

When he discovered that the physician spoke Arabic, Morris began speaking to him in Arabic and pleaded with him to reconsider. Somehow, he convinced him.

The doctor operated.

It was in those earliest days, before my father was verbal and before there was any clear indication of what recovery, if any, would look like, that I asked him to strengthen his observance of Shabbat. He already prayed, put on tefillin, went to shul, and kept a kosher home, but I wanted him to take on Shabbat more fully. I wrote out a commitment for him.

He signed it.

The Impossible Takes Shape

Then, slowly, what we had been told would never happen began to happen.

My father swallowed again. He ate. He drank. He spoke. He walked.

And he lived another fourteen years. Twice seven.

I would never presume to know Hashem’s calculations. Still, in a Jewish life governed by the rhythm of seven, our family could hardly fail to notice it.

Those years gave us far more than time. My father saw grandchildren born and watched them grow. He was there for my brother Morris, for me, and my twin sisters, Caroline and Edna, through the ordinary and extraordinary chapters of our lives. There were semahot, conversations, and constant Torah. He listened to Rabbi Eli Mansour and Rabbi Uri Lati, including shiurim in Arabic.

Thankfully, we decided to record him. We now have on video stories of Beirut, business, people, lessons, and stories that might otherwise have disappeared with him. We did not understand that one day the sound of his voice itself would become part of the inheritance.

The Final Months

My father’s final eleven months were extraordinarily difficult. My mother remained at his side with remarkable devotion, while children and grandchildren made certain he was rarely alone.

During those months, Morris learned about a Jewish woman who had died and whose family lacked the resources for a Jewish burial. The family was considering cremation. My father made calls, secured the necessary help, and ensured that she was buried as a Jew.

My father lay in a hospital bed while one of his children was elsewhere doing precisely what he had spent a lifetime teaching us to do.

Toward the end, my father became terribly thin. His body was no longer properly absorbing nutrition, and for a period he was being sustained intravenously. His strength had almost disappeared.

But he wanted to go home.

The hospital staff placed him in a chair with bicycle pedals for rehabilitation. We told him that if he could regain enough strength, perhaps they would let him leave.

I have a video of what happened next.

Pushing the Pedals

This terribly frail man began pushing the pedals.

When I watch it today, I see the young man in Montreal who had spent an entire day failing to sell his jewelry and nevertheless tried one more door.

The body had changed. The instinct had not.

Several months before my father died, while he was still cognizant, I sat beside him and said what I could not risk leaving unsaid. I thanked him for his sacrifices, generosity, guidance and example, and apologized for the times I had taken him for granted.

Then I told him how deeply I loved him.

I looked into those extraordinary green eyes, flecked with gold and yellow.

He puckered his lips and kissed me.

Then he squeezed my hand.

I knew he understood.

Afterwards, whenever I left the hospital, I developed a personal ritual. I would walk far enough that my father could no longer see me and then turn around for one last look.

I would think: Is this the last time?

I was not terrified of the answer. By then, he had suffered enormously. I simply understood that eventually the answer would be yes.

Eventually, it was.

Zaken Kasher V’shalem

My father died surrounded by his family with a Torah class playing in his room.

At his funeral, a respected Jewish dayan explained that his position required care with words. He could not praise a man merely because the occasion demanded it.

He described my father as a zaken kasher v’shalem, an upright and complete elder.

My father lost his mother at thirteen and spent much of the rest of his life creating what that boy had lost: security, family, community, people who showed up. He built a business, but also shuls. He accumulated wealth, but also gave. He once had no advocate, so he noticed people who had none and took action for them.

Perhaps this is what remains when a life has been well lived. Not simply memories of the person, but his life lessons living inside other people.

Pray, and then knock on another door. If something is not yours, return it. Go to shul. Notice who is missing. Help the person nobody else has noticed. And when your strength is nearly gone, push the pedals once more.

My father spent his life teaching us how to live.

I am only now discovering how much we learned…

Victor Cohen

There are families in our community who struggle to put food on the table. It might seem impossible to believe, given the prosperity our community has seen. However, for some, even meeting the most basic of expenses is a challenge.

They just barely get by, unable to afford nice meals for Shabbat and holidays. And they struggle not only to feed their children – but also, heart-wrenchingly, to explain why their family isn’t as comfortable as the one next door, or down the block.

As hard as it might be to believe, even here in our community, which has been blessed with such prosperity, there are people struggling to buy food.

Thankfully, organizations exist to help support those who are in need. One organization has – for over 26 years – assumed the specific responsibility of ensuring that every family, no matter how dire their financial straits, will enjoy large, festive meals every Shabbat and holiday. And now, this organization – Tomchei Shabbat – is reaching out and asking us to help it help the people who need it.

An Empire of Hesed on the Jersey Shore 

The Lakewood-based Tomchei Shabbos organization is a $14-million undertaking, quietly – without much fanfare or publicity – supporting over 2,400 families at different levels, depending on each family’s specific financial needs. They have a warehouse for the weekly/monthly deliveries, whatever the family requires. They also include special packages for the holidays. Lines extend out into the highway consisting of people – including some from our community – waiting for food to give their families.

What sets Tomchei Shabbat apart from other organizations is that they directly provide food, rather than distribute funds. Tomchei Shabbat leverages both their infrastructure and location to provide the most food that they can at minimal cost to them. They work efficiently to get the most for every dollar they raise, and they keep everything quiet to preserve the dignity of their beneficiaries. For 26 years, this special organization has – under the guidance of numerous prominent rabbis of our community – helped struggling families enjoy Shabbat and holidays the way these occasions are meant to be enjoyed.

Tomchei Shabbat’s involvement in our community began when Rabbi Bension Kaye saw the unfortunate need, and would deliver Pesach meals to 35 families before the holiday. Unfortunately, the number of families in need grew over time. Tomchei Shabbat would always be there to help pick them up.

There was a shift around Pesach last year, in 2025. The families in need kept growing. After discussions involving Rabbi Kaye and the other rabbis of the Jersey Shore, a new Sephardic division of Tomchei Shabbat was established. Abe Tawil was appointed Director of Development, and Tomchei Shabbat of the Jersey Shore was born.

The Jersey Shore division hit the ground running, running weekly fundraisers, actively reaching out to donors, and building partnerships throughout the community. Baruch Hashem, thanks to the many generous donors and to the selfless volunteers, over 150 families received the assistance they needed.

Local schools also joined the effort, with students participating in packing food boxes destined for families throughout our community, thereby expanding this initiative into a large-scale educational workshop on true hesed.

The enthusiastic response to the new project showed yet again something that we’ve all known for a long time – when our community is made aware of a genuine need, people step forward to help.

The Highest Form of Tzedakah 

“When we help others welcome the Shabbat, we’re welcoming blessing and peace into our homes,” says committee member Hymie Dana. “Supporting Tomchei Shabbat is definitely a source of blessing for our homes.”

“Helping to feed those in need is one of the biggest mitzvot,” Ricky Esses, who is heavily involved with Tomchei Shabbat, added, “but giving a sense of joy and hope to these families on Shabbat and holidays is the greatest mitzvah. We must continue taking care of our community, and we must first start with those most in need. Tomchei Shabbat of the Jersey Shore does that.”

The new division’s work quickly earned the support of numerous community rabbis.

Rabbi Shaul Kassin said, “Tomchei Shabbat gives a tremendous amount of relief to these families who cannot imagine what they are going to do for Shabbat.”

“There are families in our community that live down the block from you and me who can’t look forward to Friday night,” Rabbi Joey Haber said. “Tomchei Shabbat will ensure that every family in Deal is able to have the gift that all of us have.”

“There are families who, unfortunately, don’t know what they’re going to do this coming weekend,” Rabbi Joseph Dana said. “What am I going to do to put chicken, wine, and challah on the table?”

Rabbi Moshe Douek added, “I personally know many people who are so relieved once they receive the boxes from Tomchei Shabbat, like a huge stress is taken off their head.”

“It is imperative for us to support Tomchei Shabbat because they support our community,” Rabbi Eli Mansour said. “Tomchei Shabbat embodies the highest form of tzedakah,” Rabbi Avi Harari enthused, “Giving with such discretion and dignity that families can rebuild their lives without shame, knowing their community stands behind them in their time of need.”

Rabbi Reuven Semah describes Tomchei Shabbat as “an organization that provides vital assistance to the families in need in our Jersey Shore community,” emphasizing in particular “their food distributions during holiday times when expenses are high.” The rabbi implores community members to donate generously to this important cause.

A Nuclear Power Plant of Hesed 

Tomchei Shabbat of the Jersey Shores’ annual event was graciously hosted this past summer at the home of Ricky and Monique Chera, whose son, Stanley R. Chera, is very involved in the organization.

It was a beautiful gathering that brought together community leaders, Rabbanim, donors and supporters from across the Jersey Shore – all united around one common mission: making sure that no family in our community goes without the basic necessities for Shabbat and Yom Tov.

Stanley opened by thanking Hashem for giving him the opportunity to help out with this organization. “This organization is not something we should ever take lightly,” he said. He thanked everybody for coming, thanked his parents for hosting, and introduced Abe Tawil to speak.

The next speaker was Abe Tawil, who expressed his appreciation for Stanley’s dedication to this endeavor and for all his behind-the-scenes efforts on behalf of Tomchei Shabbat. Abe also thanked the community’s rabbis for their leadership and for helping struggling families throughout the Jersey Shore.

Shmuel Kairy spoke next, and he shared an emotional personal story.

“When I was in Israel for my son’s bar mitzvah, I was in a yeshiva called Yakirei Yerushalayim, led by Rabbi Yehuda Cohen. I saw some boys wearing disheveled clothes, and I told the rabbi that it’s not kavod haberiyot [human dignity] for boys to walk around like this, with ripped clothes. I took money out of my pocket and asked the rabbi to get this money to the parents. The rabbi took a moment and then replied, ‘I need to tell you really what kind of aniyut [poverty] they suffer.’

“He pointed at a boy and said, ‘See that boy? He came to school last month with a 103 fever. I asked him why he came to school when he was so sick, why his mother would send him to school with a 103 fever. He said, ‘My mother forced me to stay home. But I told her, if I don’t go to school, I don’t eat for the day. I was starving. The only meal I get a day is in school. I have to go eat. I’ll come home after I eat.’ And so, the boy left with a 103 fever to go to school to eat. I personally walked him home, and I saw there was nothing in the house. There are people out there that have real needs.’”

Shmuel then related that a certain Rosh Kollel told him of a sign that one of the avrechim (married students] hung up in the Kollel. It read: Does anybody want to split a chicken with me for Shabbat? I can’t afford to pay for a whole one.

“There are stories like that out there,” Shmuel said. “Tomchei Shabbat makes sure that we don’t hear those stories. They are prepared and they are geared up and they are mobilized to make sure that the people have what they need. We are fortunate that we are able to support this organization. We are living in a nuclear power plant of hesed. We do so much hesed in this community.”

Rabbi Shlomo Diamond spoke next, noting that there is a “tremendous need” in the community for this kind of work. “Although you might not think there’s a need,” Rabbi Diamond said, “there really is such a need. There’s a segment of people in our community who really have problems putting food on the table.”

Rabbi Diamond then expressed his gratitude to Stanley and his parents for hosting the event, recalling his close relationship with Stanley’s grandfather, Stanley Chera, a”h. “I grew up with him, we were friends all the years,” he fondly reminisced. “And although we went in different ways, we went and grew in the community.”

The next speaker, Rabbi David Haber, said that while although some things in life are debatable, there are some that are not up for discussion. One of those things is a teaching in the work Pele Yoetz: “Every person is commanded to treat their fellow man like his own body part.”

Why, the rabbi asked, does the Pele Yoetz use this particular comparison – to a part of one’s own body? Why did he not urge us treat our fellow as a friend or family member?

Rabbi Haber explained that when we feel very hungry, we don’t say that we “want” to eat, but rather that we “need” to eat. This isn’t something we want to do – like wanting to go to a certain place for vacation, or wanting to live in a certain kind of home. Food is something we absolutely must have when we’re hungry.

Some people think that food isn’t as much of an issue as others. “Food? What are you talking about? Food isn’t a real problem! That’s not an issue for us.” Rabbi Haber says that this is a mistake. “Every Rabbi here can tell you that they know somebody who receives food from Tomchei Shabbat. They have names. They have spouses. They have children. They will probably sit next to you in shul. Over 150 families in our community use Tomchei Shabbat.”

Harry Adjmi closed the day by speaking about the amount of good the organization has done. Mr. Adjmi helped fundraise for Tomchei Shabbat, as well.

Tomchei Shabbat continues to do more, for now and the future. The demand for it has not gone away, but has increased, instead. People come to Tomchei Shabbat at their lowest, and it’s up to Tomchei Shabbat to help give these families the support that they need to get back on their feet.

Whatever it is – whether a parent passes away, or the father loses his job, Tomchei Shabat is there to pick people up and help them rise once again, granting them much-needed dignity and discretion while doing so. It is a beautiful organization, and B”H, Tomchei Shabbat of the Jersey Shore will have the means to aid anybody who calls on them for help.

Ellen Geller Kamaras

“One of the most rewarding aspects of my work is seeing the client’s progress happen outside of the therapy room. I love when a client comes back and tells me, ‘I thought about what you would say’ or ‘I heard your voice in my head when I was dealing with that.’ That’s when I know therapy is becoming something the person can carry with them into their everyday life.”  ~ Adele ~

Please meet Adele Salem, a wife, mom, and licensed clinical social worker. Adele is the founder of her own private therapy practice and is a therapist at Sephardic Bikur Holim of Brooklyn.

Let’s hear about Adele’s life story and her approach and vision for helping her clients and for having a meaningful life. Here in Voices of Vision our community women reveal what drives them to be the best version of themselves. Adele joins an esteemed group of community women here.

Adele’s friendliness and openness was apparent from the start.

Roots and Education

Adele feels blessed to have been born into a warm family that has been strongly connected to the community for generations. She grew up in Deal and is the youngest of four children. Adele earned her Bachelor of Science in Social Work at Rutgers University and went on to complete her Master of Social Work  at New York University.

Adele was an outgoing and adventurous child with many interests.

Academically, Adele preferred her science and Judaic studies classes to math and history. “I have always loved animals, especially dogs. I’ve never shied away from an adventure. Believe it or not, I have gone skydiving and cage shark diving!”

Family members and friends describe Adele as hardworking, ambitious, curious, and adventurous. She is also creative, warm, calm, poised, passionate, and self-aware.

Marriage and Family

Adele met her naseeb, Max, through deep family ties. “Our families have been very connected for multiple generations, but we had never met!” The couple lived in Brooklyn when they were first married and recently moved to Deal. They have one daughter.

Role Models

Adele’s parents have incredibly influenced  her and grounded her in the values she carries into both her personal and professional life. “I also have an aunt who is a therapist. Having a family member who understood this profession gave me an early window into the work and the impact it can have.”

Career Path and Passions

Adele began to explore her interest in working with people and animals at Rutgers. She loves animals and her dream was to become a veterinarian.  Struggling through chemistry classes made her realize that she would not make it through veterinary school. Adele had also briefly shadowed a vet and saw that her fear of needles was a big obstacle. She has since put her own therapeutic techniques to work on herself!

Adele started to google different careers that combined her interest in dogs and animal behavior with her interest in human behavior and the human-animal bond. “When I discovered Animal Assisted Therapy, it was one of those moments where everything clicked.” Adele pursued her bachelor’s in social work and worked with an Applied Behavior Analysis therapist during the pandemic. Working with autistic children in a masked kindergarten setting was challenging.

When Adele’s dog, Rosie, entered Adele’s life, the plan was for the two to work together. “We’ve been a team since then!” For clients who love dogs, Rosie joins Adele’s in-person sessions as a calming, comforting presence.

Adele went for her MSW because she wanted to pursue clinical work and was drawn to NYU’s strong clinical training and reputation. While studying for her masters, Adele completed an internship at SBH Counseling Center. After graduating, she was thrilled to be offered a position at SBH and has remained there throughout her clinical career.

Adele works with clients experiencing a variety of difficulties including anxiety, life transitions, relationship challenges, self-esteem issues, trauma, grief, and specific phobias, including fear of dogs. Her approach is collaborative and flexible, and is tailored to each client’s individual needs. Adele integrates evidence-based strategies with insight-oriented work to help clients better understand themselves while building practical coping skills.

Recently, Adele launched her own private practice, where she offers individual therapy. Her practice’s tagline, “Compassionate Therapy for Lasting Change,” captures what she hopes every client will experience. Adele thrives on seeing her clients progress outside of the therapy room and integrate what they learned in therapy into their daily lives.

In addition to working with children and adults, Adele practices Canine Assisted Therapy.  Partnering with her therapy dog, Rosie, Adele has helped many clients overcome their fear of dogs. CAT is a fast-growing form of therapy, which is recognized for its benefits in enhancing emotional well-being, reducing stress, and improving social interactions. CAT can be effective in  hospital or rehabilitation settings, clinical settings, and in schools. It has proven successful in helping children with learning disabilities or emotional challenges, and also has shown to work with seniors.

Achievements and Challenges

One of Adele’s proudest professional accomplishments is creating Unleashing Confidence, a group focused on helping people overcome their fear of dogs through therapeutic exposure, education about dog behavior and body language, and the use of learned coping skills. “What makes it especially meaningful to me is seeing the transformation that can happen. I’ve worked with people who used to run across the street to avoid a dog and have seen them reach a point where they’re comfortable around dogs, approaching them, and even petting them! There’s something incredibly rewarding about watching someone realize that a fear that once felt so limiting doesn’t have to control their life.”

Earlier in her career, Adele was very focused on work and strove to always be available. Over time, she learned that being dedicated to one’s job does not mean being available every minute of the day. “Learning boundaries has made me a better professional and allowed me to be more present in the rest of my life.”

When asked what contributes to her success Adele responded, “For me, success is less about reaching a particular title or milestone and more about doing meaningful work, continuing to grow, and building a life that feels fulfilling. I think staying curious, being willing to learn, and being persistent have helped me get where I am.”

Balancing Work with Motherhood

Adele is intentional about balancing her professional life with motherhood and protecting time to be fully present with her daughter.

“Even though our child is a baby, I think a lot about the foundation we’re creating for her. One thing motherhood has reinforced for me is how powerful our words are in shaping the way children see themselves and how much our words shape a child’s developing sense of self. I’m intentional about creating a compassionate and gentle home while still teaching boundaries and independence.”

To unwind, Adele enjoys reading, spending time with her family, hanging out and having a good laugh with her friends, cooking, and baking. “I love getting creative and trying new recipes.”

Community has always been integral to Adele’s life. She feels very fortunate to have grown up with a strong sense of family and community and she values the way people show up for one another. Adele wisely clarifies, “Everyone’s experience within a community is unique. To me, a strong community is one where there is room for different experiences and where people feel seen, supported, and included.”

Through her work as a therapist at SBH Counseling Center, Adele has had a positive impact on the mental health of our community’s individuals, families, and schools. “Mental health and supporting the community are meaningful to me and I’m grateful to be able to contribute professionally.”

What’s Next?

Adele is excited to be opening an office close to home. “I’m eager to create a warm, comfortable space where clients can feel at ease. I’m looking forward to having Rosie back in the therapeutic setting with me and incorporating AAT into my practice.”

Check out Adele’s website, www.adelesalemlcsw.com.  Contact her through her website, call 732-508-0544, or email at [email protected].

Ellen Geller Kamaras, CPA/MBA, is an International Coach Federation (ICF) Associate Certified Coach. Her coaching specialties include life, career, and dating coaching. Ellen can be contacted at [email protected] (http://www.lifecoachellen.com).

Linda Argalgi Sadacka

New York has spent years building an extensive language around diversity, inclusion, discrimination, harassment, stereotyping, and bias. The principle behind that effort is a worthy one: all people should be treated with dignity. Words matter, assumptions matter, and the atmosphere we create around other people matters.

No one should be humiliated because of race, religion, background, or disability. No one should be made to feel that there is something inherently wrong with who he is. No one should have to calculate whether revealing a part of his identity will make him less welcome in the room.

But there is a question New York needs to confront honestly. Where do Jews fit into the conversation?

It is an especially urgent question now because anti-Semitism in New York is no longer something abstract.

A Look at the Numbers and Beyond

In 2025, the Anti-Defamation League recorded 6,274 anti-Semitic incidents across the United States – more than 17 every day. New York recorded more incidents than any other state. Anti-Semitic assaults here reached a record high, with the overwhelming majority occurring in New York City. Visibly Orthodox Jews, recognizable simply by walking down the street, have been particularly exposed.

But numbers can become strangely easy to absorb. Six thousand becomes a statistic. Ninety assaults becomes a line in a report. What gets lost is the human beings underneath the numbers.

A Jewish man should be able to ride the subway without wondering whether the kippah on his head makes him a target. A mother should be able to walk her children to shul without scanning the street first. A family walking home from synagogue down Kings Highway on Shabbat should be thinking about Shabbat lunch, not about whether being visibly Jewish makes them vulnerable. An elderly Jew should be able to enter a synagogue without passing protesters who have decided that a house of worship is an acceptable place to protest objections to the government of Israel. A parent should be able to send a child to yeshivah without thinking about armed guards and security doors simply because the building houses Jewish students. And a Jewish child should not become less worthy of compassion because somebody associates that child with Zionism.

Conditional Compassion

After October 7th, one of the most haunting examples of what had changed was exhibited with the tearing down of hostage posters. After Israelis were kidnapped from their homes and from the Nova Festival, posters bearing the faces of hostages appeared across American cities and campuses. They were not political manifestos – they were photographs asking people to remember that real people had been taken captive.

And people tore them down…

Think about what that requires emotionally. Before someone can rip the photograph of a hostage, especially of aa child, from a wall, that child has somehow stopped being merely a child. The face has been transformed into a political statement. The suffering has been assigned an ideology. Compassion has become conditional.

That is troubling. Anti-Semitism does not become acceptable overnight. It becomes acceptable when Jewish pain is repeatedly qualified, when Jewish fear is treated as political, when Jewish victims are asked what they believe about Israel before anyone decides whether they deserve sympathy. By the time someone is screamed at on a subway or blocked from entering a synagogue, the moral groundwork has often already been laid.

An Atmosphere of Hatred

Hatred does not begin only with the person who raises a fist. It begins with the atmosphere that makes the fist easier to excuse – when one group’s fear immediately produces sympathy while another group’s fear is questioned or justified away, and when we stop seeing individuals and start seeing symbols.

Increasingly, Jews are being treated not simply as Jews, but as representatives of something larger. A Jewish student becomes responsible for Israel. An Orthodox man becomes a symbol of Zionism because he is wearing a kippah. A synagogue becomes a political target. A child wearing a Star of David can find himself carrying the weight of an international conflict he did not create and could not control.

Once that atmosphere takes hold, harassment becomes easier to dismiss, intimidation becomes easier to rationalize, and even physical violence risks becoming part of the background noise.

State Involvement

State leaders, including NY Governor Kathy Hochul, have acknowledged the seriousness of anti-Semitism and have directed resources toward protecting Jewish institutions. Those measures matter – security grants, law enforcement, protection for synagogues and schools all matter enormously. But physical security addresses hatred after it has already become dangerous. A police officer can protect the entrance to a synagogue. A security grant can reinforce a school door. Neither can, by itself, change the atmosphere that made that protection necessary.

That work begins earlier – in classrooms, workplaces, universities, and government institutions; in the language we use about Jews and the assumptions we allow to go unchallenged; and in the education state agencies use to teach people what prejudice looks like in the first place.

This is not a critique of the people working in state government, many of whom I have had the privilege of working alongside, and whose commitment to this work I don’t doubt for a moment. It is a critique of a curriculum – one I encountered firsthand.

Discrimination and Harassment Training

Like many people who work in and around state government and its affiliated organizations, I completed the state’s discrimination and harassment training as part of my onboarding [onboarding is the structured process of integrating a new employee into an organization], and I found it deeply troubling. But not because of the people around me. What troubled me was the training itself.

Real care had clearly gone into making other groups feel seen: there were scenarios built around new and breastfeeding mothers, around employees with progressive political views, around someone being bullied for simply being different. That effort is worth acknowledging. But nowhere, not once, was there a scenario built around a Jewish employee, an Orthodox co-worker, or anti-Semitic harassment of any kind – despite the fact that, by the numbers, Jews are experiencing far more hate-motivated targeting in this state than any other group.

If the training could take the time to build out those other scenarios with such specificity, the absence of one for the community bearing the sharpest brunt of hate crime in New York is not an oversight that is easy to explain away.

The Department of Labor and Division of Human Rights are responsible for this training. Much of it is genuinely valuable: it teaches people to recognize prejudice, to understand how stereotypes shape treatment, to notice that someone in the room may be experiencing an interaction very differently than everyone else.

Post-October 7th

But it raises a larger question. In post-October-7 New York, is that training teaching people to recognize what anti-Semitism actually looks like now?

A closer look at the Department of Labor’s own model training confirms the gap. Every one of its six illustrative case studies concerns gender-based conduct – none touch religion, ethnicity, or national origin, though all three sit alongside gender on the training’s own list of protected characteristics. That is not a matter of law; the law already protects religious New Yorkers. It is a matter of what people are actually trained to notice. And when the state’s data shows New York recording more anti-Semitic incidents than any other state in the country, a curriculum that never once asks an employee to recognize religious hostility in practice is not neutral. It has simply not caught up to what is happening on the ground.

The training video makes a visible effort at representation – the employees depicted include a range of ethnicities and backgrounds, including someone who appears Muslim. But no one in a kippah appears. No modestly-dressed or visibly religious woman appears. Religious New Yorkers are not represented at all. For a workforce being trained on what vulnerability and prejudice look like, the curriculum designers chose to make several communities visible and left the community currently absorbing the sharpest rise in hate-motivated incidents in the state unseen.

The Commission of Omission

Contemporary anti-Semitism does not always arrive announcing itself as hatred of Jews. Sometimes it calls the Jew a Zionist instead. Sometimes it assigns collective responsibility to Jews for Israel. Sometimes it treats a synagogue as though it were an embassy. And sometimes it operates through something far quieter: omission. The state has developed a sophisticated vocabulary for identifying which people might feel marginalized – but Jews can still seem strangely absent from that framework even while they are being harassed and physically attacked at alarming rates.

That absence matters. Not because Jews should be placed above anyone else, and certainly not because Muslims, people with disabilities, or other minorities deserve less attention. They do not. The point is the opposite: if inclusion is a universal principle, Jews should not require an exception.

Jews – Successful but Still Vulnerable

Jewish communities also complicate simplistic ideas about what vulnerability looks like. A Jewish family can own a successful business and still fear anti-Semitism. A community can build schools, synagogues, and institutions and still require guards outside those buildings. Success does not cancel vulnerability. Achievement does not erase prejudice. Yet, too often Jewish success becomes part of the reason Jewish suffering is discounted – Jews are perceived as powerful, so hatred towards them gets treated as punching up [punching up means to criticize, joke about, or target someone who has more power, authority, or higher social status than you do]. Hatred is associated with Israel, so hostility toward individual Jews gets rationalized as political expression.

But the human being does not disappear because somebody has attached a political theory to him. A Jewish child on a hostage poster is still a child. A Jewish woman screamed at on the street is still a woman deserving to be treated with dignity. An elderly man trying to get into shul is still an elderly man trying to pray. None of that becomes less serious because someone has decided Jews are powerful.

Inclusion Training Needs an Upgrade

The Department of Labor and Division of Human Rights should take a serious look at whether this training reflects the world New Yorkers are actually living in after October 7. Where religious discrimination is taught, anti-Semitism should certainly be included. Show a rabbi. Show an Orthodox employee. Include a Jewish student. Build a scenario involving anti-Semitic harassment. Explain that an individual Jew should not be presumed responsible for Israel merely because he is Jewish – that opposition to Israeli policy does not give anyone permission to target Jewish classmates, coworkers, synagogues, or neighborhoods. Explain that a kippah, a sheitel, tzitzit, or a Star of David does not turn a human being into a political symbol. And explain that anti-Semitism can appear in language that does not initially sound like the anti-Semitism people learned about in history class.

This is not asking for special treatment. It is asking for relevance. State law already requires this training to be reviewed and revised every four years. That review is a built-in opportunity, not a new demand – a chance for the Department of Labor and Division of Human Rights to update the conversation the next time this training comes up for its scheduled revision, at a moment when one of the state’s largest and most visible minority communities is experiencing a dramatic rise in hostility.

The Goal

The goal is not to police every word anyone says. We do not want a society in which people are afraid to debate Israel, criticize politicians, or express strong opinions – political disagreement is necessary in a free country. The goal is simpler: teach the distinction between political disagreement and collective blame. Teach people to recognize when criticism of a government has crossed into hostility toward a people. Teach that Jewish identity does not erase individuality, and that Jewish suffering does not require a political litmus test before it deserves compassion.

Because that is ultimately what this is about. Humanity.

The mother walking her children to shul is not a geopolitical argument. The boy wearing a kippah on the subway is not the Israeli government. The elderly man entering a synagogue is not a military policy. They are people. And perhaps the most dangerous thing anti-Semitism does is to persuade society to forget that before it does anything else.

The real test of inclusion is not how carefully we protect the dignity of people everyone has already agreed are vulnerable. The test comes when the victim complicates our categories – when the minority is successful, when the person targeted is associated with a country or cause someone dislikes, when the individual standing before us does not fit neatly into our preferred understanding of oppressed and privileged. That is when universal principles either remain universal or reveal themselves to be selective.

New York already knows how to speak the language of inclusion. Now that language has to catch up with the reality Jewish New Yorkers are living. Update the training. Include Jews. Teach people to recognize the anti-Semitism that exists now, not only the anti-Semitism of the past – not because Jews deserve more empathy than anyone else, but because they should not have to prove they deserve empathy at all.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of any organization, employer, or entity with which she is affiliated.