This week, it emerged that a student at Nysmith School — a prestigious K-8 private school in Virginia — submitted a portrait of Adolf Hitler, no less, for a classroom project on “strong historical leaders.”

You might expect that the school would treat this as a serious misstep, an opportunity to teach boundaries and basic decency. Instead, they proudly displayed the artwork.

And when one Jewish student’s parents, understandably horrified, raised their concerns, the school’s response wasn’t an apology — it was dismissal. Their 11-year-old daughter, they were told, needed to “toughen up.”

Then, in a twist that belongs in some dark satirical novel, all three of that family’s children were expelled. Let that sink in. Expelled!

This wasn’t a college campus. It wasn’t a high school. And it wasn’t some anonymous post in a toxic online forum. This was an art and history assignment at an elite elementary and middle school.

And let’s be clear — this wasn’t an isolated incident or a momentary lapse in judgment. After October 7th, the school’s headmaster raised a Palestinian flag in the gym. Shortly after, according to a lawsuit, he canceled the Holocaust education event — because it might “inflame tensions.” Inflame tensions with whom, exactly?

When Jewish students were bullied — called “baby killers” and mocked about murdered relatives — they weren’t protected. They were allegedly punished for speaking up.

So let me say this clearly: what happened at Nysmith isn’t just a civil rights violation. It is a moral collapse. And yes — this is how it begins.

America, we’re told, is the safest place in the world for Jews. And maybe it is. Until it isn’t.

Because we’ve been here before. Babylonia was the best place for Jews. Until it wasn’t.

Spain, in its Golden Age, welcomed Jewish poets, scientists, and philosophers. Until it didn’t.

Medieval era France, the Rhineland, England — each of them was considered the best place for Jews. Until they weren’t.

The Ottoman Empire was once a safe haven. Until it wasn’t.

Poland was called Paradisus Judaeorum — the Paradise of the Jews. Until it wasn’t.

It doesn’t happen all at once. The shift is slow. Subtle. At first, you ignore it. Then you excuse it. Then it becomes undeniable. And by then, it’s usually too late.

This past week, at the Glastonbury music festival in the UK — a family-friendly event attended by thousands — British rapper Bob Vylan took the stage and shouted into the mic: “Death, death to the IDF!” The crowd roared in approval.

The BBC, which could easily have cut the live feed using the standard broadcast delay, did nothing. The chant was broadcast to millions.

Within hours, the clip went viral. Not on obscure fringe forums or dark corners of Telegram — but on TikTok, Instagram, and X. In just a few days, “Death to the IDF” has become the go-to slogan for every armchair antisemite with a smartphone.

To illustrate how far we’ve come down this road, had this happened at Glastonbury just a few months ago, it would have been shocking. Now it’s par for the course, and a chant that’s picked up and repeated around the world. Calling for the death of IDF soldiers has been mainstreamed and normalized. It’s the new rallying cry. That’s how fast the tide turns.

We are living through one of those moments when the tectonic plates shift beneath our feet — and we pretend it’s not happening. Or that it’s not as bad as it looks. We tell ourselves, It’s isolated. It’s exaggerated. It’s just performance art. It’s lunatic lefties. It’s radical Muslims. It’s fringe neo-Nazis. It’s just college campuses. It’s just Gaza.

Well, I’ve got news for you — it isn’t. And let me tell you something else: the Torah warned us about this from the very beginning of our national story.

In Parshat Chukkat, the Jewish people are finally ready to end their long journey. After 40 years of wandering, all they want is safe passage through the lands of their neighbors. No invasion. No demands. Just a straightforward request: let us pass.

Moshe sends messengers to Edom with a message that couldn’t be more respectful (Num. 20:14–17): “So says your brother Israel … we won’t touch your vineyards, we won’t drink your water. We just want to pass through — quietly and peacefully.” But Edom refuses. No reason given and no negotiation. Just a flat denial: “You shall not pass.”

So the Israelites try again, this time with the Emorites. They send the same message, with the same tone. And guess what, they get the same result. But here’s the remarkable part: the Israelites posed no threat. They weren’t armed for battle, and they weren’t looking for war. They simply wanted to walk through and get to the land of their heritage.

But that didn’t matter, because even then — even in the ancient world — there was something bubbling beneath the surface: a deep, irrational discomfort with Jews.

One ancient commentary, the Sifrei, notes that Edom’s refusal wasn’t about fear or self-defense. It was about something much more visceral: they couldn’t tolerate the idea of Jews moving through their land, even peacefully. Just their presence was too much.

This is the oldest pattern in world history — the “othering” of Jews. The automatic transformation of the Jew into a problem, then a threat, and then a scapegoat. Even when the only thing he’s doing is walking down the road.

American Jews, British Jews — in fact, Jews everywhere, including Israel — aren’t looking for conflict. We don’t want war. We don’t want to stir up trouble. We just want to live in peace with our neighbors and contribute to the societies we call home.

And we do contribute — far beyond our numbers. In science, in medicine, in education, in business, in culture, in public service — we are always at the front of the line.

And yet, scratch the surface, and the hatred bubbles up like lava from a volcano. The moment it becomes socially acceptable, antisemites pounce — eager to find a reason to target Jews and threaten their existence.

We’re starting to see it now, even in the United States. It starts small. One school expels Jewish children, after they were the ones who were targeted. And all the while, we keep telling ourselves: this is still the best place for Jews. And maybe it is. Until it isn’t.

Parshat Chukkat reminds us that even when you’re reasonable — even when you ask politely, play by the rules, and pose no threat — there comes a moment when the answer is “no.” When the people you thought were your neighbors, your colleagues, your classmates, your fellow citizens, suddenly say, “no.” And when that moment comes, the worst thing you can do is pretend it’s still business as usual.

To be clear: I’m not saying it’s time to pack our bags. I’m not a prophet, nor am I a panic merchant. I’m simply saying: wake up and open your eyes. Listen to the crowds chanting “Death to the IDF” and understand what they really mean. Watch what happens when Jewish children ask for protection — and instead get punished. Recognize the ancient pattern for what it is.

In Parshat Chukkat, the Israelites were denied passage, but they didn’t grovel. They didn’t beg a third time. They gathered themselves, stood tall, and faced their enemies head-on — until their enemies were no more. They marched forward, heads held up high, with God at their side. And maybe it’s time we did the same.