Friday night on the Upper East Side: My husband, a rabbi, was walking home from synagogue with our young son. He stopped to say Shabbat shalom to a congregant. A man accosted them, within arms length of our child, screaming profane accusations about “you Jews”, following them.
Benjamin and the young man shielded our son, walking quickly away. The harasser eventually left.
When they came home, Benjamin’s face was drained of color as he told me what happened. I could barely sing the Shabbos songs; I just stood there, frozen, holding my son.
When they came home, Benjamin’s face was drained of color as he told me what happened. I could barely sing the Shabbos songs; I just stood there, frozen, holding my son.
After Shabbos dinner that night, my son told me: “I don’t want to go to shul tomorrow. I’m scared of the bad man.” I am still figuring out how to talk to him about what happened. I can’t believe his first interaction with Jew-hatred was before turning 4. In New York City.
