However, if hate groups can prey on “lone wolves” to bring them into their pack and give them a sense of purpose, then other packs can do the same. Our communities, neighborhoods, schools, and houses of worship can also provide individuals with a feeling of belonging and purpose—to benefit society, not destroy it.

A lone wolf in nature is a lonely wolf, a vulnerable wolf, a wolf that is likely to live a short life because it does not have the protection of a pack. A solo attacker may have been a lone wolf at the time of the attack. However, before the moment they decide to act, a “lone wolf” attacker is not truly alone. Often they are part of a “pack” that stimulates and inspires them to action.

While wolves might not stay with the same pack their entire lives, this doesn’t necessarily mean they want to wander alone. Adult wolves will leave their pack in order to find a mate and their own territory in order to start a new pack. Wildlife biologists call these wolves “dispersers.” Their goal is to eventually be supported by a new pack. Dispersers bring new wolves into the gene pool and also disperse the family group into new territory, guaranteeing enough resources for the survival of the extended family. The survival and flourishing of the extended pack drives the lone wolf’s actions.

Lone wolf terrorists act on the encouragement they receive from terrorist organizations or hate groups, who then can claim victories for actions that cost them nothing. Online, ISIS is known to promote ways of creating and using weapons to target their enemies. The reading groups of the Daily Stormer, a white supremacist organization, take their marching orders from the editors and writers behind the website, as well as the public leaders that echo their rallying cry.

The wolf pack works together to accomplish shared goals. Each member of the pack does not necessarily have the same job. Some of the wolves hunt, some nurture and teach the children, and some guard their territory. In the pack of a hate group, some are the face of the movement inviting others to talk like them, act like them, and join them in hate activity. Others stay hidden from law enforcement and the courts, using their platform to exhort others to act against the group’s enemies.

When cyber-terrorists led by Andrew Anglin of the Daily Stormer website targeted my family, along with other Jewish families and our community in December 2016, there was a clear pattern in the communication. First, Anglin focused on one shred of truth—a Jewish realtor and a woman allegedly connected to the hate group discussed a real estate transaction—and spun a story that demonized the Jewish woman and portrayed the seller as the preyed-upon victim. Next, Anglin characterized the Jewish woman, and other Jewish community leaders like myself who were in relationship with her, as “bad people.”

With the support of Richard Spencer and David Duke, the public-facing leaders of the neo-Nazi, white supremacist pack, the Daily Stormer staff spread their call to arms far and wide. Their readers became a vicious pack focused on harming our community. The Daily Stormer editor encouraged their pack to create “an old-fashioned troll storm,” to terrorize us with threatening messages and teach us a lesson. They also repeatedly encouraged this pack to “show up and tell these bad people what you think of them.”

Seven months after the attack on our community, this same activated pack of angry, hate-filled men showed up in Charlottesville, Virginia. Here in Whitefish, Montana, though, the pack never showed up. I think the difficulty and expense of getting to our northwest tourist town, and the -15 degree Fahrenheit weather, was just too much for them. Earlier in February, 2015, a “lone wolf” terrorist showed up in our community threatening “to put two in the head of a rabbi” and open fire on schoolchildren. Because of the noise this individual caused online, and because of the willingness of an online observer in Maryland to contact local law enforcement in Montana, the “lone wolf” was arrested and the attack was prevented.

If solo violent actors follow a pattern of behavior or publicly share beliefs supporting acting against their enemies, maybe it is possible to identify “lone wolves” before they take action. Maybe it is possible to identify “lone wolves” and bring them into a community pack that offers them a better future.

A lone wolf in nature is more likely to be hunted rather than prey on others. And, according to research by Dr. Edy Cohen, the lone wolf terrorists are solo actors who seem aware that they will most likely not survive the attack they are planning. Therefore, before the planned attack they often ask people close to them for forgiveness, settle up monetary debts, and express their motivation to take action in handwritten or online messages. Dr. Cohen states that “studying attackers’ motivations and behavioral patterns reveals that many such attacks can be prevented.”

A large segment of the population has glorified the title of “lone wolf” and treats it as a badge of honor: a “lone wolf” is believed to be a strong individual who lives independently and freely. We know from nature that this is just wrong. A wolf without a pack is a wolf with a grim future. A wolf without a pack lacks protection from prey and the resources a pack distributes for survival.

If solo violent actors follow a pattern of behavior or publicly share beliefs supporting acting against their enemies, it is possible to identify “lone wolves” before they take action. Maybe it is also possible to identify “lone wolves” early and bring them into a community pack that offers them a better future.

Pastor Lou Kavar reminds us that communities are not just people who share a similar zip-code. “Instead,” he writes, “a community is a group of people who have fellowship with one another, who take an active interest in the well-being of each other, and who grow together. That’s really what wolf packs do.”

I believe we should focus on the role of the pack for the solution. As local communities, let’s find ways to engage so-called lone wolves to offer them purpose and belonging that builds, rather than harms, the community.

To promote the health and well-being of its diverse residents, a wolfpack community must bring members together to share their hopes and dreams, as well as their fears and concerns. There are so many opportunities for this. Does your community have playgrounds for young kids as well as play-spaces for older children such as basketball courts, skate parks, and swimming pools? Does your community have winter activities that bring people outside to play like sled hills and free ice-skating parties? There are 8700 farmers’ markets across the country. How are they engaging people in ways that promote belonging, help members of the pack get to know each other, find like-minded people, and meet people who hold different political viewpoints yet share desires for fun and safety?

Communities plan for commercial growth and housing opportunities. They should also plan for ways to identify the strengths and struggles of their pack so that they can care for each other and build a brighter future than that of the “lone wolf.”

(This essay was originally posted May 20, 2026 on The Wisdom Daily)

I was raised in the Reform Jewish movement with a strong ethic of “tikkun olam” (repairing the world) and helping others. We decided what we thought people needed, how we thought we could support them, and then we took action. In 2016 I learned about the flaws in this approach and through lived experience I now understand what it means to step forward as an ally and support one another.

I want to challenge the commonly held belief that showing up is the measure of moral courage. I’ve learned instead that true allyship is defined by listening. You can be an ally or a liability depending on whether you follow the leadership of those most affected by injustice. Sometimes the most faithful act is not to lead or even appear, but rather to support others in the way they request.

In November 2016, a call went out asking faith leaders of all religions to come to Standing Rock in support of the Water Protectors resisting the Dakota Access Pipeline. After months of militarized responses to peaceful protest, spiritual leaders requested a multi-faith presence to strengthen morale at a critical moment. Elders carried generations of historic trauma; youth were determined to protect their future. The community asked for allies.

I live in northwest Montana. I realized that if I left before dawn, I could drive fourteen hours and arrive at Oceti Sakowin by morning, in time for the prayer gathering. I slept a few hours in my car and entered the Water Protectors’ camp through a long corridor of flags representing tribal nations from across the United States.

The camp was organized in widening circles—housing at the edges, communal work and ceremony at the center. Signs directed volunteers where to go, where to sit, where to serve, and where not to enter. Donations were sorted and distributed. Food was prepared. Ceremonial space was clearly marked. I found a posting instructing volunteers to sit and listen for announcements. When a task was named and you were able to help, you stepped forward.

So I sat.

I watched Native and non-Native volunteers working side by side. I listened to instructions. I entered the morning water ceremony respectfully, participating only when it was appropriate.

Later, we walked toward the line of law enforcement near the blocked Backwater Bridge, keeping our distance from escalation points. Hundreds formed a prayer circle. One by one, faith leaders stepped forward. I found two other Jewish women wearing tallitot (prayer shawls). When it was our turn to represent the American Jewish community, I blew the shofar as a call to justice, and my partners offered prayers for peace.

The prayers were meant to uplift the Water Protectors, to strengthen hearts and spirits after months of confrontation. But as the circle continued, something shifted. The longer non-Native voices filled the space, the more Native participants began drifting away. Some moved toward the edges. Others returned to their responsibilities in camp.

In the distance, I heard chanting. A group of Native American men stood on the bridge holding American flags, some wearing their military uniforms. Their voices rose in rhythm and language unfamiliar to me yet resonant. I walked closer and listened to their prayerful chants. I later learned that the melodies were passed down orally and that younger men were encouraging elders to share traditions so they would not disappear. I shared with them the story of Yiddish and its reinvigoration with a new generation.

At Oceti Sakowin, I learned how to be an ally by approaching in silence and listening for direction. I learned that allyship has boundaries and requires consent. There were spaces I could enter and spaces that were not mine. There were supplies I could take and food that was not for me. There were moments to speak and moments to step back. Allyship cannot simply be spontaneous moral expression; it has to include disciplined restraint in service of someone else’s struggle.

Just weeks later, my own community became the one in need of allies.

White supremacists targeted Jewish leaders and families in Whitefish, Montana, through coordinated cyber-harassment. They threatened to hold an armed Nazi march in our town. Our Jewish community was small and we feared not only violence, but that public spectacle would harm relationships with our neighbors. The winter tourist season depends on snow, safety, and carefree strolling downtown.

My voicemail and inbox filled with messages from rabbis and Jewish leaders around the country. They wanted to come and stand with us. They wanted to face down the neo-Nazis. But over and over, I said, “Thank you—but please don’t come.”

Local law enforcement and civic leaders made a strategic decision: The town would go dark on the day the march was rumored to occur. No confrontation. No cameras. No spectacle. White supremacists feed on attention. We would deny them oxygen.

We were not passive, though. A local human rights organization organized a community gathering indoors, away from the proposed march route. Our Matzo Ball Soup Brigade served more than 350 bowls of soup. Neighbors played games, children laughed, and conversations flowed. We affirmed the values that truly defined our town: kindness, diversity, and walking the talk.

A handful of Orthodox rabbis came anyway. They posted videos on social media. They issued press releases about visiting the police station and affixing a mezuzah to the Christian chief’s office. One published a national op-ed framing their visit as a celebration of Jewish resilience. Meanwhile, our celebration was with our neighbors in a secure location.

Their intentions may have been sincere, but their presence drew media attention, demanded scarce resources, and reignited the story. The harassment that might have faded quietly stretched on for weeks. By ignoring the community’s request, they extended the suffering we were trying to extinguish. Whether they ignored my request because I’m not an Orthodox rabbi, or they ignored it because of their calling, I do not know. I do know they caused harm with no remorse.

At Standing Rock, I was taught to wait for direction. In Whitefish, I found myself begging others to do the same.

Spiritual activism can take two forms. It can be pastoral—offering care and quiet presence to those who are suffering. Or it can be prophetic—raising a moral voice against injustice. Both are necessary. But both require the same first steps: Ask what is needed, listen without ego, and then act without compounding harm. Overriding a community’s expressed needs in the name of moral urgency risks reenacting the very dynamics of power we claim to resist. We should not, in our allyship, center our voice in someone else’s struggle.

At Standing Rock, listening looked like recognizing that even prayer, offered too loudly or too long, can displace the people it intends to support. In Whitefish, listening looked like believing that sometimes the most powerful act is to refuse the spotlight. I was told that the teacher of one of the visiting rabbis instructed his followers to show up no matter what—regardless of what the community says it needs. That philosophy may feel bold, but sometimes courage means allowing a community to define its own strategy—even if it contradicts our instinct to rush in.

At Oceti Sakowin, I blew the shofar when invited. I also learned to put it down when my voice was no longer needed. Sometimes, allyship requires you to step forward. And sometimes it requires you to trust that the most faithful act is not to be seen at all.

This essay was originally published in The Wisdom Daily.

Only a few days earlier, the largest international neo-Nazi website had posted my picture and the pictures of 2 other Jewish women on their hate site. The editor called for an attack on us and our community. Followers were encouraged to “show up” and tell us we were “bad people.” Violence was mentioned parenthetically yet loudly. Fear, anger, confusion, and pain were overwhelming for many of us in the northwest Montana Jewish community.

On that Hanukkah night in 2016, we had no idea how many people would attend Glacier Jewish Community’s Hanukkah party in a local hotel. We reassured our congregation that we had police presence and private security. We encouraged people to join with other Jewish individuals and families to bring more and more light to the darkness and enjoy the power of community. It was a full room and everyone in attendance had no regrets that they showed up that bright night.

In my experience leading a rural Jewish community in a red, open-carry state, Jewish people follow one of two paths regarding their Jewish identity. (And maybe this is true of every American Jew nowadays.) Some believe that being Jewish requires silence and keeping one’s head down; others believe that life in the community demands being openly and proudly Jewish.

I identify with those who believe that the only way to guarantee our freedom and live a full life is to identify as a Jewish person in public. I will answer questions from those who are curious. I will explain how Hanukkah is not the “Jewish Christmas.” I will wear my Jewish star with pride and do my best to engage sincere inquiries about Jewish faith and tradition.

That is not to say that I don’t walk through the world with some degree of fear. And I know I am not alone. There are those who fear the police and deportation. Others who fear being attacked because of the way they express their sexuality. Many of us watch as this generation of college students comes to expect that a shooting at Brown will be just one in a long line of shootings that will inevitably touch their alma mater.

Fear isolates. Terrorism makes us second guess our daily routines. That is its intention.

But please, do not stay home alone this Hanukkah.

Jewish organizations, please don’t change or cancel your Hanukkah gatherings. The cold hard truth is that if someone wants to attack your community, they will do their best to try whether you are inside or outside.

Whether you have security guards or cameras. We have been murdered in the pews and on the streets. In the end, what we must decide is what kind of life we want to live and what kind of world we want to live in.

How do we meet antisemitism, fear, and hatred?

We must meet it with presence. These moments of shock, grief, and fear are the very moments we shouldn’t be alone. Being in community we see that we are not alone. We see that no questions of politics or faith need to be answered for me to know that I am in need and you to know that you can be there for me.

The Chabad community in my county planned to host their outdoor Menorah Lighting ceremony on the first night of Hanukkah. No one would blame them if they canceled the event as they grieved the attack on the Sydney Jewish community. But the event remained as scheduled and the security protocols were boosted.

In all honesty, I do not usually attend the Chabad public gatherings. They center Orthodox Judaism and represent an organizational structure with which I have many objections. However, on this Hanukkah it really doesn’t matter what kind of Jewish philosophy you hold. If you are Jewish, you are a target of a normalized, worldwide campaign of antisemitism. And, therefore, all the more so, in my opinion, we should be standing together. Outside. With security. With others offering solidarity.

After reading about the murders in Sydney, I reached out to my interfaith clergy network and non-Jewish friends around the county, and I asked them to consider coming to the Menorah Lighting to show solidarity with the Jewish community. I asked them to surround the Jewish community with their strength and presence.

Maybe some people would have shown up without asking because that is what we do in the Flathead Valley. Show up for each other. Faith communities, democrats and republicans, people who are busy with work and raising a family When someone needs help feeding their family, when someone has a sick family member, when a family member dies–we show up for each other. That’s what neighbors do. That’s what congregations do. That’s what communities do.

At 4:30pm I drove downtown to join the Hanukkah celebration. The iconic Hanukkah Menorah was standing at the head of the town square beckoning people from Central Avenue to join the party. Hanukkah music was blaring and people were eating jelly doughnuts, hugging, and wishing each other well.

As I approached the crowd I saw members of the Jewish community and I saw two local pastors and more than a handful of non-Jewish friends and neighbors who were standing on the periphery. They showed up for us. And, really, they showed up for themselves. They showed up for the Hanukkah gathering because they want to be a part of a community that guarantees the safety of all its citizens and the freedom of everyone to worship and gather in peace and solidarity.

I don’t believe in “fighting” antisemitism. As Joe Levin, a founder of Southern Poverty Law Center, taught me: hatred and antisemitism will never die. Our energy is better placed in strengthening our communities so that hatred cannot take root and gain power. What I have seen successfully make an impact is grass-roots community building. Community initiatives that center people in need and empower everyone to do one thing that will elevate their community’s highest values.

Nine years ago, when the Jewish community in northwest Montana was terrorized, over 300 people came from across the state and stood up for “Love Not Hate” at a 3-hour rally in -15 degree weather. Love Lives Here in the Flathead created a Montana menorah graphic(above) in the tradition of the Billings community almost 20 years before. They encouraged every citizen and business-owner to display their menorah; and, I saw these signs in businesses, homes, and even in cars–across the state. Lastly, on the day when the Nazis were threatening to appear in Whitefish, the community held a party at a secured, indoor location with games and matza ball soup for the 350 people who showed up to be together in solidarity.

So, my dear Jewish family. Please don’t hide. Please rally security and law enforcement. Please invite the larger community to stand with the Jewish community. Light the lights, set them in your window, and you could even share a menorah graphic like that one shared in Billings in 1993, with your neighbors and/or the local newspaper.

And, my fellow citizens. Please don’t hide. Please show up and stand with us. Show your Jewish neighbors that you believe in their right to safety and the free expression of their religion. Show all our neighbors that you believe our community includes people of all faiths and no faith. We all share this land and we are all citizens of this great country that guarantees the rights of assembly, expression, and faith.

When we stand together and lift up the highest values of our community, we are powerful. We can do things that are difficult and scare us. We can send a message that rises above politics. We can remind each other that we all need and deserve to celebrate life with our unique traditions, girded by a community that stands up for everyone.

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These words, printed in a red cursive font on a pink felt pennant, hung on the wall next to my bed in my childhood home. For as long as I can remember, I would lie on my bed and read the text over and over again, committing it to memory, and savoring my identity as an adopted child.

As I grew up, my mom taught me that I was “the miracle of the family.” My adoption story started with my parents trying to have a baby. My mom had many, many miscarriages, and only after she and my father adopted me was my mom able to carry a baby to term.

We did not hide adoption in our family. We discussed it openly and honestly, just like sex and miscarriage. My mom knew that people suspect secrets to be “bad” and being adopted was not bad. Adoption created our family.

My adoption story made me special, a miracle, needed.

At fifteen years old, my mom told me the story of my birth and my fifteen-year old birthmother. She hid her pregnancy so no one knew. One day she went home after announcing that she didn’t feel well. Her father came to check on her and ended up delivering me in their living room. The ambulance delivered us to the hospital and immediately the medical staff was told that the baby would be put up for adoption.

Conveniently, the attending doctor had a brother who practiced law and he called my aunt asking her “Is your sister still looking to adopt? There is a Jewish baby girl up for adoption.” And my aunt called my mom, and my mom said yes, and then soon after that I was adopted. This is my birth-story.

I didn’t need any more information about my birth. The identity of my biological parents didn’t really matter to me until I had some ongoing medical problems. I hired a private investigator to find my birth-parents when I suffered from constant joint pain and the rheumatologist insisted medical history was significant to diagnose my condition. The P.I. did find my birth-mother and the rheumatologist misdiagnosed my condition anyways.

I don’t regret searching for my birthmother, though, because I wanted to understand the start of my life. From the time my parents brought me home to Oak Park, Michigan, I understood my story. Before then shadows and questions dominated the beginning of my life’s story.

My birthmother confirmed the story my mom told me. My birthmother filled in some of the details of my beginning. How she lived in denial that she was pregnant. How she hid her pregnancy in bulky sweatshirts and oversized clothes. And how her father truly did deliver me in their living room.

My birth-story justified my adoption story.

Of course a fifteen-year old couldn’t raise a baby. Of course my parents needed a child to start a family. I could accept my adoption story more easily with this knowledge. I could cover over any anger or pain of rejection with the certainty that my story made sense. It happened the way it was supposed to happen. I became strongly attached to my adoption story because it helped me belong in my non-biological family.

To this day I am often asked if I know who my “real parents” are. My answer is always the same. “Yes, Sheldon and Charlene Green.” “No, I mean your real parents!” “Yes, they’re my real parents. They wiped my butt and dried my tears. They discipline me and they love me. They’re my parents.”

During my childhood, I could assert agency over my identity by taking my adamant stance toward pride in adoption, claiming my adoptive family without question, and expressing no desire to search for more. I chose to claim my identity as Francine Green, daughter of Charlene and Sheldon, sister of Danielle and David, granddaughter, niece, cousin, and more.

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In Jewish tradition, an adopted child who is converted to Judaism as a minor rejects or affirms their Judaism upon reaching bat or bar mitzvah–the age of agency in Jewish tradition. In other words, although the child was converted, their Jewish identity is temporary until they make their own decision at the age of 13. No other convert has this temporary status.

I love explaining this nugget of Jewish law to adopted b’nai mitzvah students. I love empowering all b’nai mitzvah students to choose their identity with intention and clarity. They aren’t necessarily claiming a birthright, or anything related to biology. They are defining themselves and living into an identity based on their own agency and mindset. (As much as a thirteen-year-old is able to!) The age of b’nei mitzvah becomes the age when you begin the journey of defining your identity for yourself and you create your own story.

My mom gave me a story of my beginning that defined being adopted as miraculously powerful, and nothing to be ashamed of. While my mom feared that the story of my birth to an unwed fifteen-year old would bring me feelings of shame, knowing what happened before my adoption allowed me to accept “being given away” and cherish “being chosen.”

In Buddhist teaching suffering comes from clinging to an identity and an attachment to self. We invite suffering when we think that any one identity can define us. We are always changing, as is the world around us. As all things in life are impermanent, including our life itself, clinging to one identity only brings suffering. It’s like playing tug of war while grasping the rope without any give. You get rope-burn from trying to hold on tightly.

And that is the essence of my suffering. It has taken me these 57 years of life to learn that clinging to any identity locks me into a cycle of fears and desires connected to that identity. As I worked to portray the proud, “well-adjusted” adoptee, I constricted the fullness of my experience. This adopted identity didn’t allow for my (natural) anger at my birthmother or my (natural) grief over the feelings of displacement, disconnection, and vulnerability.

I have a story of my adoption, but that is just one story.

Yes, I am an adoptee. I am a daughter. I am a mother. I am a student. I am a rabbi. And each title is insufficient and ever-changing.

These days I try as much as possible to describe myself not by titles but by actions. I choose to identify myself by what I am doing in the present, not the past. I teach and I guide and I study and I learn. Any story I tell about myself is one snapshot of a moment in time.

Right and not true.

In moments of mindfulness, when I identify a story I am living into, I try to remind myself that it might be right and not true. It is what I am noticing and feeling, and it is not necessarily the truth of my greatest self or even the self others experience.

As I continue to write and work on a memoir, I am living into the power of telling my own story. I am trying to be loving and kind to my young self and my evolving adult self.

There is a particular mindfulness meditation practice that helps people practice loving-kindness. In Pali the word “metta” translates as “benevolence” or “loving-kindness.” Metta meditation begins with offering loving-kindness to one’s self. We offer blessings to ourselves to call up the love in our hearts. Only then do we have the capacity to share love with others.

Many people have difficulty starting with a focus on self-love. Many of us are culturally trained to deny ourselves in order to care for others. One of the ways to experience love of self is to call up a benefactor, teacher, ancestor, or beloved and imagine them looking at us with expressions of love.

One of the most powerful meditation experiences I have had involved doing this particular exercise envisioning my ancestors. I called up my parents and grandparents, seeing some in front of my face and some behind me with their hands on my shoulders, the person behind them holding the shoulders of the one in front of them.

I imagined a chain of ancestor-love holding me, lifting me up, and supporting me. I included birth-parents and birth-grandparents in that chain. They played their part in bringing me into this world. They are a part of my story and that is the way I choose to place them in my story.

At this moment in time!

Dear Hevre, I care about you and I hope you are taking care of yourselves. While the news keeps swirling and your responsibilities have not waned, we need you. You are important to your community, to American Jewry, and to God.

Nevertheless, the amount of energy, patience, strength, and wisdom that has been demanded of you in the past FIVE years is extraordinary.

I understand what it is like to be a spokesperson against hatred and the difficult task of not internalizing that kind of hatred toward others. I understand the need for empathic allies and the need for rest and healing. In the nonstop arena of news and the empty halls once the camera focuses on the next crisis, you are left standing and wondering how we all got here.

The New York mayoral race became the third rail of American Jewish identity.

I signed the Rabbinic Call to Action letter because I wanted to support you, my hevre, who were experiencing fear of “rising anti-Zionism and its political normalization throughout our nation.” I wouldn’t usually jump into New York City politics. I have enough to be concerned about in my own corner of the world.

However, I understand what it is to feel that your life, your community’s well-being, and your identity is being threatened by words on the page or words in speeches. I know very well we cannot curtail freedom of speech, but I can still be scared. You could still be concerned for your safety and in need of support. Particularly because we know that hate speech has as its primary intention the activation of like-minded people who will act out their hatred in defense of their mistaken righteousness.

Those of you who were fearful, I wanted you to know that you are not alone. You did that for me!

Those of you who were angry with other Jewish leadership, or signed onto a different letter, I was hoping that so many voices around the country might call you to hear the fear of rabbis and leaders as something legitimate to consider. It is not necessarily Islamophobia, and it deserves consideration.

No matter where you stand politically, no matter who Mamdani is or isn’t, I see that the expectations of leadership in this moment have been extraordinary.

So please, dear leaders of the Jewish people, take care of yourselves. Please make breaks in your days and breaks in your weeks in order to care for yourselves. And NO! Shabbat doesn’t count! There is too much work for you on Shabbat, unless you actually get to stay home in your PJs!

Your voice is important and you need to take care of it. Physically maintaining your strength and health. Spiritually maintaining your soul and your creativity.

• Have you read a novel, short story or poem recently?

• Have you walked under trees and listened to the leaves and the wind and any other sounds that fill up your world?

• Have you sat to eat a good meal with no devices and no “shop-talk” and only with beloved companions sharing tasty, healthy food you can enjoy and savor?

There are so many more things you can do to take care of yourselves. I leave that to you.

My message to you is that your efforts to care for yourself are AS important as were your efforts to speak publicly in the weeks before the election.

So, first I addressed your well-being. That always comes first in my book.

And now a little tochecha/admonition. A little friendly, unsolicited advice from a colleague who cares about you from far away.

Now is the time for introspection. Now is the time to look back at your statements and the responses they drew and reflect on your responsibility toward the Jewish community as a whole.

If your statements regarding the mayoral race condemned one segment of the Jewish community as definitively wrong and your group as absolutely right…

If your statements regarding the mayoral race promoted the hatred of another (non-Jewish) people or organization…

If your statement did not reflect some humility regarding your convictions, which would offer some space to meet with those with whom you disagree…

…then you need to do teshuvah. You need to look at what you have said and how it was heard regardless of your intention. You need to publicly admit your mistakes. You need to apologize to the Jewish people you represent and the people your words potentially harmed. And then you need to look at your process of creating and distributing your statements so that you do better next time.

If your statements regarding the mayoral race promoted values that you believe are shared by Jewish people with whom you disagree politically, you need to invite them into conversation.

What can New York’s Jewish organizations and congregations learn from each other? How can you support each other and support your leadership? And, how can you work with the newly-elected mayor and his administration to keep your communities safe and help them thrive.

Reactionary steps like ADL’s Mamdani Monitor creates a wall rather than a bridge for a productive relationship. Maybe it is an important initiative for the future. But for now, why isn’t the ADL reaching out to calm people’s fears, strategize, and nurture allies in the new administration?

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I was also troubled by Bend the Arc’s public statements. Proclaiming that you are right because you knew what was most important and your rightness was confirmed by the outcome of the race, then you aren’t helping the Jewish community as much as you think. Your lack of humility and introspection builds walls and dissolves coalitions.

Now that there is a Mamdani administration, what are the Jewish community’s priorities regarding city-functioning? How are you all going to move forward in a way that you are not fighting each other or repeating each other’s efforts, but working together for the best interests of the New York Jewish community, the American Jewish community, and the Holy One?

Last unsolicited piece of advice!

From my experience of antisemitism in my life and antisemitism in the form of Christian nationalism in my state government, what has always been most important is local relationships.

While the role of speaking for the future of Judaism and world Jewry was foisted upon you, I encourage you to return to a smaller sphere of influence. When trouble strikes, as it might, no matter who is mayor of NYC, the most important relationships are your neighborhood coalitions.

I encourage all Jewish communities, wherever they are, to take the matter into their own hands.

No matter who is President of the United States. No matter who is governor of your state. No matter who is mayor of your city. You still have agency regarding your own safety and the well-being of your community.

What is your relationship with local police and firefighters? What is your relationship with your neighbors on the street and on the block? What is your relationship with the various faith communities in your neighborhood?

If you are saying they are all good and solid, that you are able to contact them for help at any time with immediate response, that is great. But, does your congregation or organization know that? Bring more people into the building of these critical relationships thus expanding the spheres of influence and connection.

This diverse network prevents hatred from finding safe haven in your neighborhood.

As a rabbi sitting in Montana, I actually do have some understanding of these matters even though I don’t lead a large congregation and I don’t live in an urban center. I have experienced anti-Jewish and anti-Israel and anti-Zionist hatred in different forms. And, sometimes to my surprise, what has carried the Montana Jewish communities through hard times is connection with each other and relationships with law enforcement, legislators, and interfaith partners.

I’m here if you need support or a place to retreat.

With blessings, Francine

“Hi Z. What is going on?”

“I’m at the vigil. Are you here? Are you in Whitefish?”

She sounded very stressed out.

“What vigil are you talking about? Where are you?”

“They are doing a vigil for murdered Gazan children. I’m here. I had to be.”

As we talked I walked around the house with one hand on my phone and one hand grabbing my “Bring Them Home Now” sweatshirt, my Israeli flag with a yellow ribbon printed over the Star of David, and my backpack to shlep whatever else I needed.

“Hey, I’m on my way. I will stand with you.”

I drove to Kalispell and walked into the crowd, asking after the organizers so that I could speak with them. I found one woman and did my best to communicate my message:

“Listen. I grieve the loss of life from this war and the horrible deaths of Gazan children. I, too, grieve with you. But, holding this vigil on October 7th is making a statement that is disrespectful to those who were murdered on October 7th.”

“Well, the other Montanans for Palestine around the state are holding their vigils today.”

“Uh huh.”

I don’t remember what exactly she responded with after that but somehow I found myself saying that the war didn’t begin in October 7th. I immediately regretted that came out of my mouth. Her response confirmed my nausea:

“Right. It didn’t start on October 7th. It started in 1948 or 1939…”

I didn’t go there to debate, so I walked away. I went to share my offense at their co-opting of October 7 with a Vigil for Gazan children. On top of that, many of the signs people were holding did not talk about Gazan children. Rather, they contained conspiracy theories and antisemitic messaging. And one of the readers of the names was proudly donning a green Hamas headband along with the Palestinian flag in the pocket of his camo jacket and his white keffiyeh with red, green, and black stitchwork.

I went there to stand with Z. So that she knew that she was not alone. There was at least one other Jewish person in the Flathead Valley who shared her offense at the message that Gazan deaths were the real crime to lift up on October 7th. I went there to witness the emotions, the theater, and the hatred.

Meanwhile 120 miles to the south of us in the city of Missoula on October 7th, a man was beaten up because the assailant believed him to be Jewish.

Now, that was a weird sentence. The news stories were more concise. “Jewish Man Assaulted by Self-Professed Nazi.” “Missoula Man Charged with Hate Crime After Assault Motivated by Victim’s Jewish Identity.”

Had you heard about this? I read about it in the Times of Israel, then I found it in regional Jewish newspapers, and then in Missoula news sources. People around the world were concerned about this incident, but it was impossible to get local human rights leaders to express concern.

Why?

Because allegedly the victim is not Jewish. Honestly, I have no idea if he is or not, and I DON’T CARE. The victim had a Star of David tattoo and discussion of that tattoo is what started the interaction between these two human beings. These men might both be mentally ill. They might both be homeless. And, they might both be nonJews.

IT DOESN’T MATTER.

The man was beaten because his assailant believed him to be Jewish and after the assailant was taken into custody he stated that he was a follower of “the Fourth Reich.” Seems like someone explaining the reason for their behavior. I am a nazi and therefore I believe I was justified in beating this Jewish man. The assailant did not say these words exactly, as far as I know, but it really seems like he was clear about his actions and his reasoning.

That is clear-cut antisemitism.

To borrow from the IHRA’s working definition of antisemitism: “Antisemitism is a certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.”

And from the U.S. State department’s website:

“Antisemitic acts are criminal when they are so defined by law (for example, denial of the Holocaust or distribution of antisemitic materials in some countries).

Criminal acts are antisemitic when the targets of attacks, whether they are people or property…are selected because they are, or are perceived to be, Jewish or linked to Jews.”

So, what the hell is the problem? Why is this incident undeserving of condemnation, this victim undeserving of advocacy?

I drafted a statement condemning the offense and supporting hate crime charges and along with my 5 rabbinic colleagues in the state, we created a statement that called out this act of hate. I sent this rabbinic public statement to over 20 news outlets around the state of Montana and, as far as I know, it was published by one of them—the Missoula Current.

In my humble opinion, if you receive a statement that was agreed upon by six rabbis, just that fact alone makes the statement newsworthy!

But, all joking aside, it seems that people looked for reasons not to “call out hate” and they found them within their own internal bias and bigotry.

Things I heard from people: But he wasn’t Jewish, so it doesn’t matter. He wasn’t Jewish; we don’t want to cry wolf. He wasn’t Jewish so it is just an argument between two mentally ill people.

Often, I believe that the world Jewish press is overly-hysterical about calling out antisemitism and its impacts. And, coming from me that is something. You know that I am truly concerned about calling out hate and preventing harm from hate activity.

Here, the world got it right and many Montanans got it wrong.

What was most jarring was the silence from Catalyst Montana, the human rights organization that is the result of the joined forces of the Montana Human Rights Network and Montana Women Vote. It seems like the mission of challenging bigotry and supporting marginalized communities has taken a backseat. That’s being too nice.

It seems that condemning hate activity against people believed to be Jewish is of no concern to Catalyst Montana.

One of the reasons I imagine it is of no concern to many people is because there is a false dichotomy in liberal circles equating Jewish people with the Israeli government’s policies, the Israeli army’s actions, and deciding Jews are “oppressors sine qua non.”

With these beliefs onboard, you can decide that the victim’s true religious identity gets you off the hook for calling out a violent antisemitic attack.

Someone was beaten in the state of Montana because he was believed to be Jewish. Full stop.

Gracefully, those who are taking the attack seriously and viewing it as a hate crime, are those in law enforcement. It’s in the hands of the judicial system now. And, we will see what happens. If you agree that this was an act of antisemitism and merits hate crime statutes, let someone in power know.

Matt Jennings is the current Missoula District Attorney and you can contact the District Attorney’s office here.

To contact Catalyst Montana and let them know that their silence is shameful, click here for the executive director’s contact info. In a quick search I could not find the board of directors listed anywhere so I’m guessing you can address the board and staff at the general email on their fb page: team@catalystmt.org.

I have been told that the cyber-terrorist attacks on me and my family were “no big deal” because no one really hurt us. There is so much to argue with there, but the main point is this.

On October 7, 2025, in the city of Missoula, Montana, someone was hurt because they were perceived to be Jewish.

Add this to the pile of episodes of political violence. Add this to the list of antisemitic incidents post-October 7, 2023. And do not think that this happened “because it’s Montana.”

This happened because people have received the message that they can act on their hatred; and, the harm they cause can be justified by virtuous beliefs—no matter how fanatical, misguided, or hate-filled.

The adventure of life includes the ups and downs of living in the world today. Today’s theme will not always be the theme of my substack. I do not want to be defined by my responses to hatred and antisemitism, and there are times when I just need to share how messed up things are.

Am I leaving Montana because of it?

No, of course not.

Antisemitic incidents are occurring all over the world. There are many different minority communities that are suffering fear, harassment, and violence.

In other words, there is nowhere to run. I’m just doing what I can to speak up. When I have the energy and insight to do so.

Thanks for joining me on the journey.

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How to define who I am & what I want to do with you here?

Hi, I’m Francine Green Roston. I’ve been living in northwest Montana with my family for over 11 years and before then I had a sixteen-year career as a congregational rabbi in New Jersey. I love to teach. No surprise since that is the translation of “rabbi”! I teach mindfulness meditation, how we can calm our nervous system and build resiliency, and how to find faith and grounding in this chaotic world.

Every articulation of identity is an opportunity for connection

I am a trauma survivor and through post-traumatic growth I found a new calling to share resiliency practices with as many people as I can. I teach community resiliency skills to help people understand how stress and trauma affect their nervous systems. I understand resiliency to be an ever-expanding-and-contracting spiritual resource that we all have the ability to understand and cultivate.

I also devote many hours to volunteering in Glacier National Park as a citizen scientist surveying loon and mountain goat populations and as a Critical Incident Support Chaplain.

I am a life-long learner. Whether I am studying my daf yomi—moving through the entire Babylonian Talmud one folio-page at a time—or learning about the various birds and trees I encounter on the trail, I love learning more and more about human nature, Jewish tradition, and the magnificent creations of the earth and all her inhabitants. I believe the more we explore nature, the more we understand our interconnectedness with all beings. The more we speak with each other and listen deeply, the more we understand how we are all related.

I am a daughter, sister, wife and mother. I am an adoptee and often my lens for viewing familial relationships is influenced by the power of Nurture vs. Nature; and, we certainly are influenced by our DNA. I’m also a Previvor. I carry the BRCA-1 and ATM mutations that put me at a high risk for triple negative breast cancer as well as ovarian cancer. Armed with that information in my early fifties, I decided to do everything I could to prevent dying by these cancers that are difficult to treat(triple negative breast) or difficult to detect(ovarian). In 2021 I had a total hysterectomy and in 2022 I had a preventative double mastectomy.

How do we live beyond labels? How do we live our values?

I try to live my life guided by the teaching of Rabbi Eliezer (The Ethics of Our Fathers 2:10) who encourages us to live each day as if it is the day before we die. I don’t want to waste time on this earth. I want to use my gifts to help others, to support others, to contribute to creating healthy communities, and to contribute to bettering the world in some small way.

Living mindfully and practicing mindfulness meditation has helped me be more present in the world and more awake to my internal life. I continually strive after the freedom that comes with non-reactivity. I try to remember to live into the pause between stimulus and response so that I can consider my choices in this world. What is the wisest and most helpful thing to say or not say? What is the wise action in this moment so that I do not cause harm? Am I understanding what is happening or can I bring curiosity to better see what is in front of me?

I am a rabbi who has tired of leading services, and I love being in services as I did when I was a child. I love to sing and sway with the congregation. I love to harmonize and play with the notes so that I am blending in and finding my individual voice.

I am a rabbi who wrestles with faith. I’ve wrestled with god-language going back to my college thesis on feminine god-language and god-imagery. The god-imagery of the prayerbook has been blocking my capacity to experience the Divine. Only recently have I been able to read and pray with my heart instead of my mind.

I’ll share my struggles, thoughts, questions, and learning in this sacred space

How I speak through this medium and how we interact together is a sacred endeavor. I strive to use wise speech. Is what I am saying of use? Is it kind? Am I relating to another or to a topic with openness, curiosity, and grace? And through it all my intention is the sharing of ideas that support my well-being and might be helpful for you, my friend.

I am not perfectly living out these guidelines. I am a work in progress. Just like you, right? I swear. I gossip. And I watch too many action movies!

I intend to write and share regularly here on Substack. I hope you will subscribe and join me on this wild adventure of life and learning.