I have spent my career in Jewish communal life. I’ve worked in politics, philanthropy and the institutions that were supposed to ensure Jewish security. And I have to be honest: I am angry.

For decades, our organizations raised and spent billions to fight antisemitism. We were told we were making progress. That we had a plan. That the programs, the initiatives, the partnerships — they were working.

They weren’t. They failed. And now, we are at an inflection point.

Eighteen-year-old registered voters are now five times more likely to have an unfavorable view of Jews than 65-year-olds. The most educated generation in history is also the most openly hostile to us. And when Hamas committed the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust, it took all of 24 hours for much of that generation to side with the killers.

That didn’t happen by accident. It happened because, while we spent decades reassuring ourselves that we were doing the right things, our enemies were playing offense. They built their infrastructure. They trained young activists. They took over academia and grassroots movements. They defined the conversation while we sat at roundtables and congratulated ourselves for securing a vague, symbolic statement of support from this or that coalition partner.

And where are those partners now? Now that Jews are being beaten in the streets? Now that Jewish students are being hounded off their own campuses? Now that anti-Zionism, the thinly veiled modern form of antisemitism, is not just tolerated but openly encouraged?

Nowhere.

Jewish institutions spent billions on “fighting antisemitism,” and this is where we are. So I have to ask: Where did all that money go?

It went to reports that no one read. Conferences that changed nothing. Trainings that were too timid to call Jew-hatred what it was. Initiatives that bent over backwards to avoid offending the very people we needed to stand up to. Bureaucracies that prioritized prestige over impact. Organizations that raised money in the name of safety but spent it on vanity projects and dinners with politicians who offered empty promises.

The world has changed, and our institutions haven’t.

That has to end now.

We need an entirely new strategy for Jewish security. One built on power, not pleading. One that is proactive, not reactive. One that recognizes that if we are going to fight this fight, we must be ready to win it.

We need to stop funding failure. Any Jewish organization that claims to fight antisemitism must prove what impact it actually had. What battles did it win? What institutions did it shift? What policies did it change? If the answer is “not many,” then why does that organization still exist? If a Jewish institution was designed to function in a time when antisemitism was subtle, when it was confined to whispers in polite society, then it is not built for the moment we are in now.

We need to stop investing in organizations that refuse to stand with us. If a university tolerates open antisemitism, we should not give it a cent. If a civil rights group will not defend Jewish students, we should not pretend they are an ally. If a political movement demands our silence in exchange for a seat at the table, we should walk away from the table and build our own.

We  need to embrace unapologetic Jewish strength. We must fight antisemitism with legal action, political power and social pressure. That means funding lawsuits against institutions that tolerate antisemitism. It means supporting candidates who will defend Jewish rights, regardless of party. It means building media platforms that can push back against lies, instead of hoping others will do it for us.

We need to change how we educate our own. For too long, we have outsourced Jewish identity to institutions that have diluted it into something passive and weak. That has to change. Young Jews need to be raised with pride in their people, with an unshakable understanding of Zionism, with the confidence to push back against the lies they will inevitably encounter.

Most importantly, we need accountability. Jewish institutions do not get to fail this spectacularly and keep going as if nothing happened. Donors need to stop writing blank checks to organizations that cannot justify their existence. Boards need to demand real impact, not just PR wins. And leaders who spent years telling us that their strategies were working — when they clearly weren’t — must either adapt or step aside.

We are at an inflection point. If we don’t change course now, in 20 years we’ll be having the same conversations — except in a world where it is even more dangerous to be Jewish.

I take responsibility for my part in the failures that got us here. I believed in many of these strategies. I defended them. I helped implement them. And now, I see the results. That is why I am doing everything I can to correct it.

Jewish leadership is not a social club. It is not a networking opportunity. It is not a stepping stone to a career in the private sector. It is not a jobs program for do-gooders. It is a responsibility. And if those who hold that responsibility cannot rise to this moment, they need to get out of the way for those who can.

Our enemies aren’t afraid to fight. It’s time we stopped being afraid, too.

Joe Roberts is the executive director of the Jewish Federation of Tulsa. 

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