By Jonathan Greenblatt
NEW YORK — I still remember the first time I visited European Jewish communities as CEO of ADL. It was about a decade ago, early in my new role.
In Paris, I stood inside the Hypercacher kosher supermarket, where a terrorist had held Jewish hostages and murdered four innocent people just months before. The exterior has been turned into a shrine. Stone-faced French police guarded the site.
I remember thinking how grateful I was that no American Jews were afraid to go to a kosher supermarket.
During that trip, I also was struck by something I had never seen in America: synagogues fortified by bulletproof glass, day schools flanked by armed guards bearing assault rifles, communities surrounded by fences, cameras, and fear. It surprised me, frankly.
I remember asking one of my European colleagues whether this level of protection was really necessary. He looked me in the eye and said something chilling: “It’s coming your way.”
I didn’t believe him. I thought America was different. But here we are, 10 years later, and the change is unmistakable.
Today, virtually every synagogue in the United States is fortified by the same security infrastructure I once found unthinkable: armed guards, metal detectors, and bulletproof glass. The same precautions that once shocked me in Paris are now part and parcel of Jewish life across America.
So how did we get here? The cause is not a mystery. Antisemitism is like a plague that has metastasized globally at a speed and scale unlike anything we’ve seen in our lifetimes.
Our latest Global 100 survey reveals the sobering reality: 46 percent of adults worldwide, an estimated 2.2 billion people, harbor deeply entrenched antisemitic attitudes. That’s more than double the level from our first survey a decade ago.
In 2024, the United States experienced the worst year for antisemitic incidents in ADL’s recorded history—over 9,300 cases of harassment, vandalism, and violence. That’s a nearly 10X increase in incidents since I started in this role.
This hatred is no longer confined to the margins. It’s inserted itself squarely into the mainstream. It has penetrated political parties, media platforms, and the public conversation.
You see it in corporate boardrooms where anti-Israel activists hijack ESG principles to push antisemitic resolutions. You see it on college campuses where Jewish students are assaulted for expressing their identity. You see it in the algorithms that reward conspiracy theories and extremist rhetoric, spreading hate to millions with the tap of a screen. You see it in the invective spewed on popular podcasts, feeding the beast of bigotry with every ugly exchange.
And increasingly, you see it at the ballot box. Ten years ago in France, Marine Le Pen — a far-right figure leading a party with its roots in Vichy France — was a concerning possibility. Now, the prospect of her party winning a French election is an impending reality. Ten years ago, the idea of someone calling to “globalize the intifada” running for office in New York City would have been unimaginable. Today, such a candidate is on the verge of taking City Hall. This is the new reality.
This normalization of hate, whether through ballot boxes or the internet, not only endangers Jews. It erodes the fabric of democracy itself.
When antisemitism is tolerated or disguised as political critique, or no longer relegated to the margins, it sends a clear signal: bigotry is negotiable. History has shown where that leads. When antisemitism gains ground, other forms of hate are rarely far behind.
The changes in America are not subtle; they are unambiguous. When I first visited Europe as ADL’s CEO, I came with questions, trying to understand how Jewish life could survive in the shadow of such hostility. But when I returned to Paris just a couple weeks ago, it was the European leaders who were asking me the questions.
They weren’t asking how I thought they were doing. They were asking what’s happening in America. They were trying to make sense of our political climate, our culture wars, our campus chaos. The same leaders who once warned me now look at me with concern.
But, as I told them, even in this difficult moment, I still believe we can turn the tide.
On my last trip, I retraced my steps from 10 years ago, returning to the Hypercacher market. This time, I went down into the basement, the same basement where a store clerk had hidden customers in a walk-in freezer during the attack, risking his own life to save theirs.
There’s nothing visibly special about this room. There are still boxes piled high, old equipment lining the walls. But to me, it has become a sacred space.
And in that quiet, cluttered space, I laid tefillin and prayed.
This is a Jewish ritual that I’ve adopted since taking on the role of ADL CEO. It’s something that I now do a few times a week. Wrapping those leather straps around my arm and my head feels like putting on armor.
It reminds me of our covenant, our history, our responsibility. It reminds me that this fight didn’t start with me and it won’t end with me. But I have a role to play.
We all do.
In that basement, reflecting on a decade of leading this fight, I thought of the young store clerk who acted with courage and humanity when it mattered most. He wasn’t Jewish, but he chose to protect human life. That’s the kind of moral clarity we need today, from all of us.
Despite the darkness of this moment, I still have hope. I’ve seen what’s possible when Jewish communities unite. I’ve seen our true allies join with us, rejecting the extremism that powers antisemitism, whether from the right or the left. I’ve seen the strength that comes from standing together—across borders, across backgrounds, across beliefs.
The threats we face are real. But so is our resolve.
Together, we will not just survive this moment – we will thrive. We will emerge sturdier and stronger. We will realize the promise of America, a place where Jewish people and people of all faiths can sit under their own vine and under their own fig tree and no one will make them afraid.
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Jonathan Greenblatt is the chief executive officer of the Anti-Defamation League.