Growing up Jewish in the West Texas Baptist Bible Belt, I was fortunate. I experienced very little antisemitism, at least not in any form I recognized: a sideways comment here, a stereotype there, but nothing overt, nothing frightening. I knew the term “antisemitism,” of course. It was in our history books, in the collective memory of our people. But for much of my life, it remained abstract-a word that belonged more to the past than to my present.
That illusion shattered on October 7, 2023.
On that day, the world witnessed the most barbaric, premeditated attack against the Jewish people since the Holocaust. The brutal invasion by Hamas left 1,300 Israeli civilians slaughtered, thousands injured, and 250 taken hostage — including babies, children, the elderly, and the disabled. It wasn’t just terrorism. It wasn’t just a massacre. It wasn’t just a Pogrom. It was an attempted genocide. And the global response — or rather, the lack of it — broke something in me.
I was confused. Then I was paralyzed. And then, slowly, I woke up.
I realized that the word I had grown up hearing — antisemitism — was no longer sufficient. It sounded clinical, vague, almost benign. Coined in 19th-century Germany by antisemites themselves, it feels like a sanitized version of what it truly is: Jew Hatred.
Let’s call it what it is. Jew hatred isn’t just a historical relic. It is alive and growing, from college campuses to city streets, from corporate boardrooms to the halls of power. It fuels the silence around Jewish suffering, the rationalization of terrorism, and the rewriting of Jewish history. It hides behind euphemisms and academic jargon, all while perpetuating the oldest hatred on Earth.
Since October 7th, I’ve found my voice. And I’ve found my people — one way has been through my activism with a movement that says the quiet part out loud:
End Jew Hatred!
The organization, End Jew Hatred, is a non-partisan, grassroots civil rights movement that refuses to let the Jewish community be gaslit or erased. They demand equal rights, equal protection, and equal recognition — not as a favor, but as a civil right.
This year, as I joined up with this organization (www.EndJewHatred.com) I chose to hone my activism on the Proclamation/Legislative work and my hard work paid off as New Hampshire Governor Kelly Ayotte officially issued a proclamation designating April 29, 2025, as End Jew Hatred Day in the state of New Hampshire.
This is more than symbolic. This is a civil rights milestone.
It means that for the first time in New Hampshire’s history, Jew hatred is being recognized, named, and publicly condemned. It sets a precedent for other states, other leaders, and other communities to follow. It tells Jewish children in New Hampshire — and beyond — that their history, their safety, and their dignity matter.
I want to personally thank Governor Ayotte for her courage, moral clarity, and leadership in standing with the Jewish community at a time when so many remain silent. By proclaiming End Jew Hatred Day, she has taken a vital step in breaking the cycle of indifference and denial that has too often surrounded this issue.
We cannot fight what we refuse to name. That’s why I no longer use the word antisemitism. I say Jew hatred. I say it clearly, I say it often, and I say it with purpose.
Because what happened on October 7th wasn’t a “flare-up” in the Middle East. It wasn’t a political dispute. It was the latest chapter in an ancient story of hate — and it demands a response that is honest, unflinching, and unapologetically Jewish.
This isn’t just about the past anymore. It’s about our future. And the only way forward is through truth, clarity, and the courage to speak up — even when our voices shake.
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