On Tuesday, 11/14/2023, there is to be a great pro-Israel rally in Washington, D.C., the largest one in U.S. history. My local community (one of many communities nationally) chartered a bus for people to go down and show their support, to fight on what feels like the front line against misinformation and Antisemitism that is rampant in this country and the world.

I will not be on that bus, for a few reasons. One, logistically it’s a nightmare this week, and I can’t afford to miss another day of school since I’m already about to be out for a week and a half. That brings me to reason number two, I’m having bilateral sinus surgery on Thursday, and the possibility of contracting illness just ahead of that would be really bad. Reason number three is straightforward, I have a young daughter who needs me. But reason number four, that’s the one I’m struggling with, because it makes me feel like a bloody hypocrite.

I’m not going to the rally because I don’t feel brave enough.

Why does this make me feel like a hypocrite, you ask? Because I have carved out a career in which I teach about the crucial importance of standing up for what’s right, of speaking out because apathy leads to erasure. I’m a Jewish educator, which is almost a play on words. I’m both Jewish and an educator, but, I educate students of all ages about Jewish topics — specifically, I teach about Antisemitism, the Holocaust, and matters pertaining to modern Israel. My “day job” or primary teaching role (as of this year) is to teach ELA and Social Studies, and Jewish Social Studies, to 4th and 5th graders, as well as to teach Art to kindergarten through fifth grades; I do this in a wonderful, small private Jewish day school. Additionally, on Sunday mornings, I teach the aforementioned topics to seventh grade students enrolled in the Sunday school at my synagogue. On top of that, I teach advanced topics in Antisemitism to juniors and seniors at the Jewish community high school program on Tuesday nights.

The war in Israel is breaking all of our hearts. But for Jewish professionals who work in non-Jewish settings, arguably, they at least get some sort of break from the pain, some semblance of distraction. This is the plight of the Jewish educator; we have no relief from the trauma. It’s inescapable, and we have to constantly balance supporting our students to process what’s happening and still function (and learn their Social Studies vocabulary words!), while also not letting our own fraught emotions spill over in class. And like a shmuck, I do this to myself times three. (That’s not fair to me, I couldn’t have predicted the current circumstances in a million years.)

Anyway, with all of my dedication to the subject matter, I feel very guilty (yes, insert joke about Jewish guilt here!). I feel guilty, not about not going to the rally, but about not wanting to go. I’m scared. Too scared to take that risk. Because it is indeed a risk; we’ve seen in recent years what happens in this country to minorities seeking to make a stand. We’ve also seen in recent weeks what happens to Jews who rally and protest. Just a few days ago, an elderly Jewish man was struck in the head with a megaphone by a counter-protestor and died of his injuries. Bodily harm is not an irrational fear in this case, it’s actually quite plausible. Far apart from my own lifelong distaste for confrontation, the idea that I could end up in a position where my kid would lose me…it just isn’t a risk I’m willing to take.

I’ve taught my students that safety should come first, and they have to decide for themselves which battles they feel are worth fighting, which ones might result in productive dialogue, versus which battles would be fruitless. Generally, this advice has been offered with regard to social media arguments; up to now we haven’t really had in-person protest-type situations to consider. Now that we are there, I have had this idea in my head that the rally is this sort of front line, the hot button place, the epicenter where the most important work for change is being done.

I’ve realized today, though, that this is inaccurate. For one thing, frankly, thanks to social media, the front line is literally everywhere. We carry it around in our pockets. For another thing…I’m a Jewish educator. Teachers were considered front line workers during the Covid-19 pandemic, and the same is true now. It was true before the pandemic too, if we think about it. We contend with countless issues our students bring to the classroom, and we do our best, we fight hard every single day to help shape their worldview. We guide their understanding of the world as it is and as it could be, what they can do to make the world a better place by the time they step into impactful roles. We work to set them up for success and empower them to fight on the front lines too someday. We do all we can to prepare them to do so, knowing we may never personally see the effects of our efforts. We play the long game and hope we make a difference, sooner or later.

No, I am not going to the rally tomorrow. I won’t be fighting on that front line. But, in truth, I am already fighting on three other ones six days a week. I do still feel rather guilty, but staying home enables me to do that other crucial front line work. And, after all, I suppose there are only so many hours in a day.