Jews Can Shoot is a spin-off initiative of my organization, Children of Jewish Holocaust Survivors, a natural extension, as I see it. I wrote this in 2018 after the massacre at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh. What I said then is still true. We have to make it real. Ultimately, we can rely only on ourselves. No one else has ever truly been there for us. By now, we should know that.
The following is a narrative of the almost 100 comments to this post:
The conversation surged with a single, unmistakable theme: the understanding that safety comes not from candles, vigils, or slogans, but from the willingness and ability to defend oneself. Many echoed the idea that armed, prepared Jews have always been more effective at safeguarding their communities than passive symbolism ever could. “Never Again,” some said, isn’t a prediction—it’s a commitment to fight back if the moment comes. For generations, attempts to control or subdue the Jewish people have met resistance, and that resistance has always been rooted in strength rather than compliance.
Examples poured in from different countries, where only criminals seem to have weapons while good people are left vulnerable—yet even there, some synagogues quietly ensure they are not defenseless. The point resurfaced repeatedly: nothing stops evil except force capable of stopping it.
Others highlighted the moral clarity of self‑defense, pointing out that history’s mass graves are filled with those who lacked the means to resist. Blessings, slogans, and sentiment are not strategies; preparation is. Some celebrated the spirit of a living, resilient people; others pointed out bluntly that deterrence—even up to the level of national power—speaks louder than any promise ever could.
The debate turned toward the real-world issues of training and competence. Simply being armed, several noted, isn’t enough—responsibility means skill, practice, and discipline. Training competitions, range time, and regular practice were all encouraged. Some worried that weapons could be mishandled, while others corrected that misconception, emphasizing that defensive gun uses far outnumber accidental incidents and that most firearm deaths come from entirely unrelated circumstances.
Self-defense wasn’t framed as aggression—it was framed as survival. Stories emerged of police officers who trained civilians, emphasizing what really matters when seconds count, especially since the law affirms that police have no obligation to protect individuals. Again and again, people stressed the same truth: you are your own first responder.
Synagogues came up frequently, with many calling for armed and trained individuals inside the sanctuary—not just outside—because threats don’t wait politely at the door. Concealed carry was mentioned as a practical solution where policy lags behind reality. Martial arts were acknowledged as helpful, but no substitute for having the means to stop an attack before it becomes hand‑to‑hand.
Others spoke of experience—competition shooting, long‑distance marksmanship, hunting, precision rifles—and of integrating practice into weekly life. It wasn’t boasting; it was a recognition that proficiency is a duty.
Underlying all of it was a refusal to be passive. Some invoked Scripture, some invoked history, others invoked lived experience, but the message was the same: survival comes from readiness, not from hoping someone else will save you. Many expressed solidarity—even non‑Jews—recognizing the universal truth that when danger arrives, help may be minutes away, but the threat is immediate.
The conversation closed with a quiet but firm consensus: Never Again is not a phrase to recite. It is a posture, a decision, and a responsibility. And it is upheld not by wishful thinking, but by people who prepare themselves to stand between their families and harm.
