Gunfire at Synagogues and Bombings at Jewish Schools: We Must Not Retreat

On the night of Purim, gunfire struck Temple Emanu-El in Toronto. Families had gathered to celebrate one of the most joyful nights in the Jewish calendar. Children wear costumes on Purim. The Megillah is read aloud. The story of survival is retold with laughter and noise. This year, the sound that reached the synagogue walls was different. Bullets struck the building. No one was injured, but the meaning of the moment was unmistakable.

The attack happened during a holiday that commemorates an ancient attempt to destroy the Jewish people. The story of Purim describes a decree calling for the extermination of Jews in the Persian empire. The ending is remembered as a victory of survival and courage. Jews have celebrated that memory for centuries. It reminds them that Jewish history has often required vigilance alongside celebration.

The gunfire in Toronto belongs to that same long narrative. It also reflects a reality that many Jewish communities are now confronting across North America and Europe. Synagogues are no longer viewed solely as places of prayer. They have become targets. Security guards stand outside buildings that once left their doors open. Cameras watch entrances that once welcomed anyone who wished to enter.

Recent attacks include the assault on a synagogue in Michigan — where security prevented the loss of so many innocents — and the bombing of a Jewish school in Amsterdam. And these are only a fraction of the attacks we are seeing.

These changes did not arrive overnight. They emerged slowly as incidents accumulated. Vandalism became more common. Threats increased. Demonstrations near Jewish institutions sometimes turned hostile. Communities adapted because they had to. Responsible leaders took steps to protect congregants and children. Security training replaced assumptions of safety.

In my work teaching personal safety and threat awareness to Jewish communities in New York, I see a pattern that security professionals understand well. Violence rarely appears without warning. It develops through signals that people either recognize or ignore. Communities that train themselves to observe early indicators of danger develop a very different mindset. The conversation moves from fear to preparation. Many families have begun discussing how to recognize early signs long before a situation becomes violent.

Adaptation has consequences beyond physical protection. When protective measures become routine, they shape expectations. A generation of Jewish children is growing up understanding that their synagogue may require guards and barriers. They see adults discussing security plans before holidays. They learn early that Jewish spaces can attract hostility.

Parents struggle with what that reality means for their children. Every family wants to raise confident and proud young people. At the same time parents carry a responsibility to protect them. Those responsibilities sometimes collide. A parent may quietly suggest removing a Star of David necklace before entering a crowded public place. Another may encourage a child to avoid drawing attention to Jewish identity outside familiar environments.

The intention behind those conversations is safety. The lesson that children absorb is more complicated. Identity becomes something that must be measured against risk. Visibility becomes a calculation.

Jewish communities have encountered this dilemma before. In many countries during the 20th century Jewish institutions tried to blend into their surroundings. Buildings were designed to appear anonymous from the outside. Public celebrations were kept small and quiet. These strategies were understandable responses to hostility. They also carried a hidden cost. A community that minimizes its own presence begins to internalize the idea that its existence is controversial.

The deeper question raised by the recent attacks is therefore larger than a few incidents. What does it mean for Jewish identity when celebration takes place under visible threat?

Purim is meant to be loud and joyful. Children shake noisemakers during the reading of the Megillah to drown out the name of Haman, the villain of the story. The holiday invites laughter and participation. When a synagogue is targeted during that celebration, the message being sent is meant to interrupt that spirit. Violence directed at Jewish institutions seeks to narrow the space in which Jewish life can exist comfortably in public.

From a security perspective, intimidation works only when it quietly reshapes behavior. That is why attacks on places of worship carry symbolic weight. They are meant to change how people gather, how they celebrate, and how visible they are willing to be.

The responsibility for confronting that intimidation does not fall on Jewish communities alone. Democratic societies depend on the ability of religious groups to gather freely. When a synagogue becomes a target, the principle being challenged is the freedom of a minority to live visibly and confidently within the broader society.

Political leaders often express support for Jewish communities after incidents occur. Words matter, yet words alone cannot shape the culture in which these incidents take place. A society communicates its values through consistency. Hatred directed at Jews must be treated with the same seriousness that any other form of bigotry receives. When condemnation becomes selective, trust erodes.

Jewish communities also face an internal decision about how they will respond. Fear can lead to retreat. Retreat may offer temporary comfort, yet it quietly reshapes identity over time.

Another response is possible. Communities can acknowledge danger without allowing it to define their future. Preparation and awareness can strengthen confidence rather than diminish it. Schools, synagogues, and community centers increasingly understand that training and preparedness save lives. In many cities, institutions now conduct active shooter training because the first minutes of a crisis often determine whether people escape safely.

Purim itself carries that lesson. The holiday remembers a time when Jews faced an existential threat and responded with courage and unity. The story has endured for centuries because it speaks to a recurring experience. Jewish life has often continued under pressure that might have erased weaker communities.

A community that continues to celebrate its traditions openly sends a message of its own. Jewish life will not be reduced to silence or caution. Holidays will still be celebrated. Synagogues will still gather families and children.

The story of Purim ends with survival. Each year Jews retell it as a reminder that history does not belong only to those who threaten violence. It also belongs to those who refuse to surrender their place in the world.

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Tsahi Shemesh is an Israeli-American IDF veteran and the founder of Krav Maga Experts in NYC. A father and educator, he writes about Jewish identity, resilience, moral courage, and the ethics of strength in a time of rising antisemitism.