We must protect them to protect Jewish life, from Amsterdam to the United Arab Emirates
5 mins read

We must protect them to protect Jewish life, from Amsterdam to the United Arab Emirates

“When you build a new house, you shall make a railing for your roof, so that you will not bring blood over your house if someone falls from there.” (Deuteronomy 22:8)

The Torah’s command to build a parapet is not just ancient construction advice—it is a moral imperative, a mandate to ensure safety in all aspects of life. It is as if the text is calling to us through the millennia: guard your spaces, protect your people. But what happens when the roofs are guarded, but the builders themselves are unprotected? What happens when the pillars of our communities—the rabbis, teachers, and messengers—are left vulnerable to threats that cross borders?

This week we had to confront these questions coldly.

Rabbi Zvi Kogan was a familiar figure on the streets of Dubai. The Israeli-born Chabad emissary, who once served in the IDF and later managed a supermarket, was known for his warmth and resilience. His days were spent greeting Jewish tourists at the kosher restaurant, organizing Torah classes and offering comfort to Bay residents navigating Jewish life far from home. He was more than a rabbi; he was the heart of a burgeoning Jewish community.

And now he has disappeared.

Chabad emissary Rabbi Zvi Kogan, November 23, 2024. (credit: via walla!)

Kogan’s disappearance on Thursday sent shock waves through the Jewish world. His car was found abandoned an hour outside Dubai, and reports suggest Iranian agents may have been involved. The suspects have fled to Turkey. Currently, we don’t know where he is – or what happened to him. But we do know this: emissaries like Kogan, the lifeblood of global Jewish communities, are increasingly at risk.

This war is not just against Israel. It is against Jews and Jewish values. And it happens everywhere.

From Dubai to Amsterdam: Jews under attack

Kogan’s disappearance comes on the heels of other terrifying events. Earlier this month, in Amsterdam, Jewish fans of Maccabi Tel Aviv FC were assaulted and beaten by pro-Palestinian mobs in what can only be described as a premeditated pogrom. Videos showed men being chased into canals, slashed with knives and spat on. “We were assaulted,” one fan told Maariv. Another said: “The police abandoned us.”

In Crown Heights, a slashing attack rattled the Chabad-centered neighborhood. And in Chicago, a Jewish man was shot on his way to synagogue by an assailant who shouted Allahu Akbar. These incidents, far from being isolated, constitute a worrying trend: being visibly Jewish is a risk.

The Jewish principle of pikuach nefesh – saving a life – has never felt more urgent. “Whoever saves one life, it is as if they have saved the whole world” (Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5) is not just a teaching but a rallying cry. Protecting the lives of Jewish leaders, envoys and communities is not voluntary; it is our collective obligation.


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As Ze’ev Jabotinsky warned, “The Jewish people must stand guard over its safety and security. No one else will do it for us.” His vision of Jewish self-reliance resonates as we face mounting threats in an increasingly hostile world.

A struggle for the soul of Jewish life

Emissaries like Kogan stand on the front lines of Jewish continuity. They are the guardians of tradition, the community builders. They represent not only Jewish identity but its survival. And that makes them targets.

Ronald S. Lauder, president of the World Jewish Congress, recently called on Nordic governments to improve security for Jewish institutions, calling it a “battle between values ​​and civilizations.” His words echo globally. If Chabad rabbis disappear in Dubai and Jews are beaten in Amsterdam, where is it safe to be a Jew?

In Washington, synagogues such as Kesher Israel have increased security ahead of the holidays. Rusty Rosenthal, director of security at the Jewish Federation of Greater Washington, called it “the Jewish Super Bowl” of security preparations. Metal detectors, armed guards and situational awareness training are now the norm. “We don’t want to lose what makes us special – being warm and welcoming,” said a synagogue official. But this balance is getting harder to find.

What next?

Kogan’s disappearance is a wake-up call. It reminds us that Jewish leaders and institutions are at the forefront of this struggle, often unprotected and vulnerable. Governments must act decisively. Communities must be vigilant. And Jewish organizations must prioritize security—not as a reaction but as a constant state of preparedness.

As Theodor Herzl said: “It is true that our people need protection and support, but above all they must begin to defend themselves.” His words and Jabotinsky’s vision stand as a call to action: to protect those who protect Jewish life, wherever they are.

This is not just about security. It’s about survival. It is about the values ​​and resilience that define who we are as Jews. We cannot afford to falter. Kogan—and all those on the front lines of Jewish life—deserve nothing less.