Given the dramatic rise in antisemitism in the U.S. since the Hamas attacks on Israel on Oct. 7 followed by Israel’s military response, American Jews have begun asking themselves “those questions.” They are questions deeply etched into our collective consciousness over the long and painful history of our people, from the Crusades to the Pogroms to the Holocaust. These questions remain dormant until the cancers of intolerance, hatred and violence shatter our collective sense of security and raise them anew: Am I, as a Jew, safe in this land that I call home? What steps must I take to protect my family? Will this moment pass or should I consider fleeing now, before the storm engulfs us?

History has shown time and again that how we answer those questions can mean the difference between life and death.

For centuries, Jews have been at the forefront of the struggle against hate and discrimination, not only when directed at us, but when directed at any marginalized group. We have been reliable advocates for a more just world, from the early and instrumental role we played in the founding of the NAACP to the establishment of the Anti-Defamation League, whose mission is to secure justice and fair treatment for all. Jewish Supreme Court Justices — including Louis Brandeis, Benjamin Cardozo and Ruth Bader Ginsburg — stood as stalwarts for American freedom and liberty, and the ideal of equality. And yet as FBI Director Christopher Wray noted, while Jews make up less than 2.4% of the American population, we are the victims of a staggering 60% of all religious-based hate crimes. We must concede that the idea that we stand for a more equitable and just world has not reached the hearts and minds of so many, who continue to view us collectively as a threat and problem for American society.

Recognizing the severity of this moment, we ask ourselves whether we believe that the climate will improve or further deteriorate. Is this a frightening but momentary blip to an otherwise secure existence in a nation dedicated to religious liberty, equality and the rule of law? Or is there a toxic brew mixing that will not resolve absent a heavy toll from American Jews in the form of a lost sense of security or even our lives?

There has been a general rise of antisemitism since Donald Trump’s accommodation of white nationalism and the 2017 chants of “Jews will not replace us” in Charlottesville, Virginia, which has only gotten worse amid the Israel/Hamas war, rampant misinformation and growing polarization. Combine all of this with an epidemic of gun violence, escalating American populism, a flirtation with authoritarianism and the erosion of democratic foundations. And, of course, let’s not forget that in times of turmoil, Jews have historically been the canaries in the coal mine. Given all of this, isn’t it more than plausible to believe that darker days lay ahead for the Jews of America?

Short of fleeing, what can we do to safeguard our families? The kippah I wear signifies my connection to Judaism and the legacy of my ancestors. While it provides spiritual comfort, does it make me vulnerable by signaling my faith to potential threats? That mezuzah that graces my doorway symbolizes a home of faith and love. Should I remove it to avoid marking my dwelling as an easy target? And should I tuck in my gold Chai, a symbol of life in Hebrew, or sanitize my Facebook profile, to better conceal my Jewish identity?

We cherish America and its promises of religious freedom and opportunities for all, but we are increasingly feeling unsafe. From our college campuses to the public square, antisemitism is again in fashion, thinly disguised in some cases by claims of protest against the Israeli government and its policies and actions. Jews too can feel anger and anguish at the plight of Palestinian civilians, but that does not matter. Israel is the Jewish state, and so the outrage is easily cast in ways that demonize a religion and its people worldwide, rather than toward a country and its actions. It is indeed ironic that cries for statehood and self determination for one people, the Palestinians, so often devolve into calls for the destruction of another, the Jews.

And despite the dramatic political polarization of the last several years, there is a conflagration between the right and left. Jew hatred provides common cause between political rivals.

Given all of this, American Jews are left to grapple with the age-old question: Is it time for us to leave? But where could we go when extremism and intolerance will inevitably follow us? One option is Israel, which has since its founding promised a homeland for the Jewish people. Yet leaving would hand victory to fear and signal a triumph of hate over the forces of religious tolerance and pluralism that are at the heart of the American experiment.

Ultimately, whether we as American Jews are safe within our homeland depends more on you — our non-Jewish friends — than on us. Where will you stand when the next swastika is spray painted on our synagogue or gravestones? Will you stand idly by when Jewish students are taunted and attacked on our college campuses? What words will you utter when you hear chants that Hitler was right? Will you speak up or choose silence? Will you stand with us or will we stand alone as we are, as we have so often been throughout the centuries, singled out and victimized because of our faith? As Nobel Laureate and Holocaust survivor Eli Wiesel rightly explained, “neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.”

DJ Rosenthal (djr@umd.edu) is a visiting fellow with the National Security Institute at George Mason University’s Antonin Scalia Law School. Rosenthal previously was the director for counterterrorism at the National Security Council in the Obama administration. The opinions expressed in this commentary are his own.