In November 2014, I traveled to France as part of a UJA delegation to stand with the Jews of Sarcelles — a suburb of Paris with large Jewish and Muslim populations, known as “Little Jerusalem.”

That summer, Israel had fought a 50-day war with Hamas, precipitated by the murder of three yeshiva boys. The war triggered violent antisemitic attacks in France, including a mob rioting outside a Sarcelles synagogue, with congregants trapped inside.

Understandably, the Jewish community was anxious, and uncertain if there was still a future for them in France.

As members of the world’s largest Jewish diaspora visiting the second largest, we were there to reinforce that they had options. We’d help support them if they stayed in France. We’d help support them if they chose to make aliyah to Israel. Either way, they would not be alone.

But truthfully, we came at a distance, from a place of perceived safety. As American Jews, we believed we were bearing witness to a distinctly European problem — a land of expulsions, the Holocaust, and now rising extremism from a growing radicalized Muslim population.

France, we thought, was not America. And while I continue to believe, in many respects, that the “topsoil” here is different, it also hurts to state the obvious: Jewish life in America has become much more unsettled over these last 11 years.

Last week, I returned once more to the streets of Sarcelles. Israel is again at war with Hamas. The Jews of France are again being targeted. But this time, we carried our own wounds — Charlottesville. Pittsburgh. Colleyville. Washington, D.C. Boulder.

Paradoxically, though, while this recent trip to France reaffirmed the continuing risk to Jewish life there, it also offered me, as an American Jew, an unexpected sense of reassurance — a reminder of the resilience and strength of a community that has long stood on the front lines in the fight against antisemitism.

As is often the case, we who came to comfort found comfort ourselves.

In 2014, there were 12,000 Jews in Sarcelles. In 2025, there are still 12,000 Jews. The abundance of kosher restaurants and Jews openly wearing kippot on the streets resembles familiar Orthodox neighborhoods in New York.

And right beside the synagogue that had come under attack by rioters in 2014? Amazingly, a sparkling new Jewish community center is about to open. 

At the same time, we are deeply blessed to live in a time when Jews have a homeland to go to, and some Jews in France are choosing aliyah.

Less than a month after ballistic missiles rained down from Iran, I had the honor last week of accompanying 120 French Jews on a flight chartered by our partner the Jewish Agency for Israel, with our support. This is not my first such flight, but every time, I’m incredibly moved to witness the anticipation of people determined to build a new life in our Jewish homeland.

The plane was overwhelmingly filled with vibrant young families — parents in their early to mid-30s, many with two or three children in tow. These adults are professionals with jobs and housing already secured, poised to enrich Israeli society from day one.

And while their joy was palpable, it does not minimize the challenges in Israel, which are real and ongoing.

To understand the toll firsthand, I visited some of the areas that had suffered direct hits from Iranian missiles over the course of the recent 12-day war — Bat Yam, one of the oldest cities in the country and home to many marginalized populations; Tel Aviv; and the Soroka Medical Center, the largest hospital in the south.

The physical and emotional damage is immense. And we’ve provided over $10 million in support for Soroka, Bat Yam, Be’er Sheva, Bnei Brak, Tamra, and other impacted communities — helping people whose lives have been totally upended by the recent Iranian attacks.

All along the way, I found myself lifted up by Israelis determined to rebuild stronger and better than what was before.

From France to Israel to New York, this journey reaffirmed our people’s extraordinary resilience and hope. A hope captured in one simple declaration, no matter the language.

Le peuple d’Israël vit.

The Jewish people live.

Am Yisrael chai.  

Shabbat shalom