The Greatest Threat Facing the Jewish People Isn't Antisemitism
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Assimilation is quietly doing more damage to our people than any external enemy ever could. But the good news is that the answer to both threats is the same.
When Bob Kraft purchased 30 seconds of Super Bowl airtime to address antisemitism, I had nothing but admiration for him. His commitment to the Jewish people is genuine and his generosity is extraordinary. His ad got me thinking: if I had a hundred million eyeballs and 30 seconds to say anything, what would my message be?
Would I talk about hate? About the Holocaust? About bullying and marginalization?
I wouldn't. And here's why.
Antisemitism is real, dangerous, and demands our vigilance. We must elect leaders who stand with Israel, pass legislation that protects Jewish students on campuses, and ensure our institutions have the security funding they need. I don't minimize it by a single iota.
There is a threat far more pernicious than antisemitism, one that is causing greater damage to our people at a faster pace than any external enemy ever could. It's called assimilation.
But the only people who love talking about antisemitism are antisemites. Every time we make it the centerpiece of our communal conversation, we shine a spotlight on our enemies, amplify their microphone, and fuel their fire. Worse, we allow them to write our agenda.
There is a threat far more pernicious than antisemitism, one that is causing greater damage to our people at a faster pace than any external enemy ever could. It's called assimilation.
All the antisemites on the planet, if they coordinated their efforts in a grand conference, could not cause the disappearance of our people at the rate we are doing it to ourselves. Until the mid-20th century, the Jewish intermarriage rate never rose above 3%. By 1964 it had reached 7% — considered alarming at the time. Today, among secular Jews in the United States, the intermarriage rate is 70%. In Europe, it's 50%.
Antisemitism threatens us from without. Assimilation is consuming us from within.
The response to antisemitism and the response to assimilation are one and the same. It is not to talk more about either one. It is to ignite Jewish pride, deepen Jewish practice, and unleash Jewish passion.
The solution to both is to ignite Jewish pride, deepen Jewish practice, and unleash Jewish passion.
In a striking metaphor, the Midrash discusses a person cast into the sea — he’s flailing, drowning, desperate. The Coast Guard throws him a rope and says: “Hold on, and you will survive. Let go, and the waves will sweep you away.”
The tzitzit fringes, says the Midrash, is that rope. And tzitzit is a metaphor for all the mitzvot — for the entirety of Jewish life and practice. For 3,300 years, since we stood together at Sinai, our Torah has been the rope. Our job is to hold on and to throw it to others who are drowning.
A Harvard study found that 60% of young adults reported experiencing little or no purpose or meaning in their lives in the previous month. Half said their mental health was negatively affected by "not knowing what to do with my life." Young adults without a sense of meaning suffered anxiety and depression at twice the rate of those who had it. And notably, those who belonged to a religious community reported dramatically higher levels of meaning and purpose.
We live in the most prosperous, comfortable, and convenient era in human history, and yet anxiety, depression, and misery are at epidemic levels. The marketplace is telling people to "obey your thirst" and "just do it," and it isn't working. It's making people feel emptier.
We have the antidote. We’ve had it for 3,300 years.
Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto opens The Path of the Just telling us that the foundation of all foundations is to wake up every day and ask: what is my duty, my mission, my purpose in this world? Not what are my rights and entitlements, but what are my responsibilities? Who can I help? Who can I love? What difference can I make?
That question — and the life it generates — is our gift to ourselves, and our gift to the world.
Soon we will celebrate Purim. When Haman approached Achashverosh with his genocidal plan, the king initially hesitated. He'd heard about the God of the Jews. But Haman reassured him with a single phrase: Yeshno am echad — there is a certain people.
The Talmud offers a devastating re-reading: don't read it as yeshno (there is), read it as yoshnu — they are asleep. The Jewish people, said Haman, are fast asleep. Negligent of mitzvot, fractured, distracted, fighting among themselves. They won't even notice what's coming.
We were on the brink of extinction because we were asleep.
Mordechai woke up. And here's the remarkable thing about Mordechai: he could have bowed to Haman. According to Jewish law, to save lives, there is a case to be made. He could have gotten a ruling. He could have laid low. Instead, he refused — stubbornly, publicly, unapologetically. And when the king sought to honor him, Mordechai didn't shrink from the spotlight.
Mordechai understood that the answer to both antisemitism and assimilation is never to bow down. It is to stand taller. To be prouder. To be more visibly, joyfully, unashamedly Jewish.
Why? Because Mordechai understood that the answer to both antisemitism and assimilation is never to bow down. It is to stand taller. To be prouder. To be more visibly, joyfully, unashamedly Jewish.
And that is exactly how the Scroll of Esther remembers him. Shushan had plenty of Jews — minyanim, kosher restaurants, the works. Yet the Megillah calls him simply Ish Yehudi — the Jew. Singular. Because Mordechai was the Jew who refused to disappear, who refused to apologize, who refused to be distracted. He put Jewish identity on full display, and he earned the respect and fear of the entire world.
So will we.
If I had the opportunity to broadcast a commercial to the world, here’s what I would say — not to the hundred million watching, but to the small fraction of Jews among them, while the others listened in:
Know where you come from. Be proud of who you are. You carry 3,300 years of DNA and a destiny that is still unfolding.
You are not a 19-year-old on a college campus — you are 3,300 years old, and you look pretty good for it. Stop hiding. Step into the light. You are part of a people with a mission to repair and redeem this world.
Don’t apologize for who you are. Don’t define yourself by your enemies. Define yourself by your mission.
Rise up. Partner with the Almighty. He's counting on you.
And here's the practical application: send a mezuzah to every Jewish student willing to put one on their dorm room door. Send a Magen David to every Jew willing to wear one. Send a kippah, tefillin, Shabbat candles, matzah. Arm our people not just with technology and knowledge, but with the physical symbols of pride and belonging.
Stop apologizing. Stop hiding. Stop being distracted by those who want to slow us down.
Antisemitism throws speed bumps in our path. Assimilation threatens to pull us off the road entirely. Our response to both is the same: step on the gas.
The world is drowning in meaninglessness. We are holding the rope. Throw it.
Based on a talk Rabbi Goldberg delivered at the Aish Legacy Summit in Bal Harbour on February 11, 2026
