Recently, my daughter made a friendship bracelet with her Jewish Girl Scout troop, complete with Star of David charms — very on brand.

But instead of wearing it on her wrist like the rest of her troop, she insisted on putting it around her ankle.

It’s been over a month, and it’s still there — dangling proudly above her sock, clinking every time she runs down the hall.

Every time I catch a glimpse of it I smile. It feels like a little whisper from the universe: She’s proud.

And then, like so many Jewish parents today, I wonder, should she take it off? For safety?

Let’s not sugarcoat it. We are living through a frightening wave of antisemitism. Since Oct. 7, 2023, anti-Jewish hate incidents have surged around the world and right here in Kansas City. As a mom, that is terrifying.

I’m the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors. My grandparents were among the 10% of Jewish children who survived World War II Europe. That shaped how I was raised, and how I’m raising my own kids. As my Zeyde always said, “living a proud Jewish life is the best revenge on Hitler.”

Still, it wasn’t so long ago that Jews were taught to hide. In the ‘80s, my husband’s grandmother once advised his parents to give him a vague, non-ethnic middle name, just in case he ever needed to change his last name so it didn’t sound “too Jewish.” That comment lives rent-free in my head.

Now we walk past armed guards and reinforced doors at our synagogues and schools. Not because we want to, but because we must.

That fear hits close to home. The recent murder of Sarah Milgrim, a young Jewish woman from Prairie Village. A firebombing in Boulder, where a man shouting “Free Palestine” attacked peaceful protestors advocating for Israeli hostages. And, of course, the 2014 shootings at our own JCC, an act of domestic terror that shattered our community.

So, as I often do when I need a dose of hive-mind wisdom, I turned to the Jewish Moms of Greater Kansas City Facebook group and asked, how do we help our kids through this?
The responses were raw and wide-ranging.

One mom said, “Teach solidarity. No one is safe until everyone is safe.”

Another said, “Teach them Israel’s history.”

One wrote, “Don’t share with people who are determined to misunderstand you.”

And another added, “We can’t expect our kids to advocate for Judaism if we don’t ensure strong Jewish education.” Amen.

Then someone shared a video that stopped me in my tracks. In it, a Jewish mother looks straight into the camera and asks, “What if the answer to antisemitism isn’t just fighting hate, but teaching our kids to love being Jewish more than anyone could hate them for it?”

She made the case that instead of spending millions trying to convince others not to hate us, with mixed results, maybe the answer lies in investing in Jewish life itself? In funding community, connection, education, ritual and belonging. In essence: Jewish Joy.

Because yes, safety and survival matter. But so does joy. Maybe especially joy.

What if the best long-term strategy isn’t just more security or media literacy (though those are needed too) but building up the infrastructure of Jewish life?

That means donors funding day schools and Hebrew schools so every Jewish child, not just the wealthiest, can attend. It means reserving Jewish summer camp spots specifically for Jewish campers, not just whoever registers first. It means helping synagogues see youth and family programming not as something extra, but as something essential.

Right now in Kansas City, the only consistently thriving mom’s group is run through a church. Building Better Moms (BBM for short) draws hundreds of women each year. And every session begins with a Christian prayer. That’s not a knock on prayers (many of my Jewish friends have joined and loved it!). But for me, walking past a giant cross or reciting a Christian prayer just to find community feels counterintuitive.

And to me, that’s a sign. A sign that we, as a Jewish community, have work to do.

Jewish mothers and the families we’re raising deserve spaces where we can find our people, feel supported and grow Jewishly. Not as an afterthought, but on purpose.

Our kids are growing up in a world where some people will hate them just for being Jewish. But what if we could raise them to love that part of themselves so fiercely that it drowns out the noise? What if my daughter never has to take off her charm bracelet?

That’s the world I want for her. That’s the world I want for all of us.