24 Feb THE GREATEST THREAT FACING THE JEWISH PEOPLE ISN’T ANTISEMITISM

Based on a talk I
delivered at the Aish
Legacy Summit in Bal
Harbour on February
11, 2026
I want to begin by
a c k n o w l e d g i n g
something very important: The people who
are here are not professionals. You are not
obligated. You took time out of your busy
schedules, set aside resources, and made it a
priority to be here, to care, and to engage in a
serious conversation because you care about
Klal Yisrael, the future of the Jewish people.
In my lifetime, this is the most critical
juncture to be having this conversation. With
so many enemies from without, with so many
threats that we face, and with so many
concerns about our future, there has never
been a more important time for all of us to
shift our focus to the Jewish people. That is
what I want to talk about in my limited time
with you. What it means and looks like to
care about Klal Yisrael.
One of the modules and incredible tools
created by Aish and shared today focuses on
antisemitism. That makes sense, because
antisemitism has become the catchword of
our age and tragically perhaps the word of
our generation. Antisemitism is on the rise
and everyone is exploring and suggesting
ways to confront it.
I have only gratitude for Bob Kraft for
putting his money toward confronting Jew
hatred, and I don’t want to be critical of him
or the commercial he commissioned that was
shown during the Super Bowl. But I want to
challenge us to think about this differently.
Not focused on what may be wrong with the
commercial but what you would have done
with that money instead. If you had the
resources to buy thirty seconds to be shown
during the Super Bowl, if you could put a
message in front of a hundred million people,
what would it be? What message would best
advocate for the Jewish people and our
future? Would you focus on being a minority,
on bullying, on hate, or the Holocaust? What
would you choose?
If I had those thirty seconds, if I could put a
billboard on every highway and broadcast
one message everywhere, it would be rooted
in this principle: There is a danger and a
threat far more pernicious, far more
penetrative, and far more destructive to our
people than antisemitism, and it is called
assimilation. If all the antisemites on the
planet gathered together at a magnificent
conference with top-tier branding and
coordination, they could not do the damage
to us that we are doing to ourselves. They

could not cause our disappearance at the pace
we are causing it on our own. Until the
middle of the twentieth century, intermarriage
never rose above three percent. In 1964 it
rose to seven percent. Today, among secular
Jews in the United States, the intermarriage
rate is seventy percent. In Europe it is fifty
percent.
Antisemitism is dangerous and of course we
must confront it. We need leaders who will
stand with our people and with Israel. We
need legislation to protect Jewish students on
campus and security funding for our
institutions. I am not minimizing it in any
way. But if antisemitism becomes the focus
of everything we talk about, if it dominates
every gathering and every conversation, we
allow ourselves to be distracted.
The truth is that the only people who really
want to talk about antisemitism all the time
are antisemites. It fuels them, elevates them,
and amplifies their voices. It distracts us
from the conversation we should be having,
which is not about them, but about us.
The real conversation the Jewish people must
be having is who we are, why we are here,
and what difference we are meant to make.
Our enemies want us to slow down, to pull
over, and to complain about the obstacles
they put in our way. But we need to step on
the gas, because there is too much work to do
to repair and improve this world. Assimilation
and antisemitism are different threats, but our
response to both is the same. It is not endless
discussion of either one. It is the promotion
and empowerment of Jewish pride, Jewish
practice, and Jewish passion. It is helping
Jews of all ages reach into the Jewish soul
inside them and ask why the world is
obsessed with us and threatened by us. If they
want to hate us for being Jews, then we need
to find out and shout out what it means to be
a Jew.
The Midrash (Bamidbar Rabbah 17:6) gives
a metaphor of a person drowning at sea,
flailing as the waves threaten to sweep them
away. A rope is thrown to them, and they are
told that if they hold on, they will survive, but
if they let go, they will disappear. The
Midrash teaches that tzitzis are that rope, and

not only tzitzis, but all mitzvos. For thirty-
three hundred years we have held the Tree of

.עץ חיים היא למחזיקים בה .Life
We are living in the most prosperous and
comfortable era in human history and yet
people are more anxious, depressed, and
unhappy than ever. Consumerism promised
happiness and delivered emptiness. We have
the answer. We have been living it for
millennia.
The winds and waves are sweeping our

people away. Let’s throw the life preservers
of Torah, Mitzvos, and uniquely Jewish
meaning. Let’s extend the branch of eitz
chaim hi for others to hold on to. And so
many are desperate to, even if they can’t put
it into words.
A recent Harvard study found that over half
of young adults (58%) said they had
experienced little or no purpose or meaning
in their lives in the previous month. In
addition, half of young people said that their
mental health was negatively influenced by
“not knowing what to do with my life.”
Those belonging to a religion were more
likely to report meaning or purpose. Young
adults who said they had little or no purpose
or meaning reported more than twice the
rates of anxiety or depression than young
adults who did feel purpose and meaning
(54% vs. 25%, respectively)
At Har Sinai, Hashem told us that we are a
mamleches kohanim v’goy kadosh. We are
meant to live lives of responsibility, not
entitlement. We are meant to wake up each
morning asking what our mission is, what
our responsibility is, and how we can make
the world better today. That question, the one
the Ramchal begins Mesillas Yesharim with,
mah chovas ha’adam b’olamo, what is your
duty in your world, is the foundation of a
meaningful life and it is our gift to the world.
We are meant to bring light instead of
darkness, kindness instead of cruelty, justice
instead of corruption, discipline instead of
impulse. Judaism is a platform to be a giver,
not a taker, to feel a sense of duty,
responsibility, not rights and entitlements,
and we are meant to teach that to the world.
Haman described the Jewish people as
“yeshnu,” asleep, and he was right. We were
fragmented and distracted. Mordechai
refused to bow, not because he lacked a
Halachic justification, but because he
understood the moment demanded strength,
not accommodation. He stood tall, proud,
and unapologetic. And that is why the
Megillah describes him as Ish Yehudi haya
b’Shushan habirah. One Jew. Not because
there were no others, but because he
embodied what it meant to be a Jew. That is
our calling in this moment.
What happens when Jews stand up for
ourselves, when we stand tall and proud and
practicing and refuse to bow down physically
or spiritually? By the end of the story, the
Megillah tells “fear of the Jew had fallen on
them and so no man could stand up against
them.” Why? Because Mordechai, the proud,
unashamed, unapologetic and fearless Jew,
“earned the respect of his multitude of
brothers, he sought the good of his people

and spoke for the welfare of the next
generation.”
If I had thirty seconds to broadcast a message
to the world, I wouldn’t address the one
hundred million non-Jews watching, I would
direct my commercial to the Jewish people
and tell them – learn about where you come
from, who you are part of, know our history,
the difference we have made and the destiny
we are yet to make. Know the meaning it
will bring to your life and with it the
happiness and purpose.
I would tell Jews everywhere to know where
they come from, to be proud of who they are,
and I would tell young people in particular to
remember that they are not eighteen or
nineteen years old. They are three-thousand,
three-hundred years old. Carry that DNA.
Embrace that destiny. Stand tall. Practice
proudly. Partner with Hashem in repairing
His world. And then I would give Jews the
tools to do it. I would advertise publicly that
any Jew willing to put up a mezuzah, we will
send them one. Any Jew willing to wear a
kippah, put on tefillin, light Shabbos candles,
we will send it to you with a guide on how to
do it and an invitation to learn more. Yes, we
need to ensure young people on their
campuses are safe but we also, as importantly,
need to empower them spiritually with
anything else that helps them step out of
hiding and into the light.
This happens one Jew at a time. One
conversation. One invitation. One moment
when someone casually asks about Passover
or matzah and is really asking to be
remembered, to be included, to feel
connected. You are not alone in this mission.
You have partners like Aish, equipping every
Jew with the tools to succeed.
May the Ribbono Shel Olam give us the
strength, courage, clarity, and conviction to
take responsibility for our people, to be the
ish Yehudi of our generation, and to step on
the gas toward our destiny together.