I am thinking thoughts I never imagined I would—about my aunts who could have lived but were not allowed to. I am also thinking about the question of moving. Moving where? Svetlana speaks of the feeling of never truly being at home after leaving one’s homeland. Yet Jewish people have long left their homes searching for the freedom to be themselves. Now, we find ourselves forced to ask again: maybe it is time to leave?
Abe calls it a “terrible question,” one made even more unfathomable for those of us who have already uprooted ourselves and never fully belong—permanently liminal. America was once a welcoming place, or at least that is what we believed and still wish to believe. And yet, these questions persist.
As Abe writes: “If I were a European Jew, I’d already have made aliyah. But for American Jews, the question of when to leave is much harder. Despite some lapses, the United States has been, for its entire existence, more welcoming to the Jewish people than any nation in world history (except Israel). Most of us never imagined facing this question.”
But after October 7, 2023, it was suddenly thrust upon us. With a series of alarming events—the pro-Hamas riots, the D.C. shootings, the Boulder firebombing, and even political developments—urgency has grown: When is it over for Jews in the U.S.?
Abe admits that this question hangs over many. “Many American Jews aren’t even thinking in these terms at all. At least not yet.” The phrase echoes in my mind as I think of family—how I could have had many more relatives, celebrations, sitting around the table with my aunts and uncles. Did they miss the moment to leave? Abe says: “I believe they’re sleepwalking, but I hope they’re never given reason to wake up.”
Our obligation is to our families, which “could mean determining the moment when America is no longer salvageable, but we still are.” But my sons are married to non-Jewish women. Would America still be their home? As Svetlana reminded us, home is very hard to replace. She passed away in 2015, never having to confront this question anew. I would not want to force any of this uncertainty on my daughters-in-law.
Abe concludes: “I don’t need to dream up further apocalyptic scenarios to know that Jews should, by now, be prepared for anything.” I do not want to leave my sons. I do not want to.
For Abe Greenwald’s piece, see Commentary, AUGUST 7, 2025, DAILY NEWSLETTER
I have been thinking about this a lot too. I want to write a post about somewhat related issues, but I don't know when I'll get the time, as caring for the newborn is pretty overwhelming right now.
Svetlana Boym’s book The Future of Nostalgia is fascinating - a cultural history of nostalgia interspersed with personal recollections of the USSR. Strangely (for me), she feels nostalgic about that country. I have never felt this way. What I remember of my life in that cursed utopia is just a subject for my writing as a member of the Horror Writers of America. But I do understand the feeling of not being at home anywhere. I comfort myself by saying that if you are at home nowhere, it means you are at home everywhere.