I was very prepared.

Not just professionally鈥攁s Executive Director of an organisation dedicated to fighting antisemitism and supporting Israel鈥攂ut personally. This work is not a job; it鈥檚 my story. My family history, my identity, my tradition. It鈥檚 why I get up every morning. I鈥檝e lived it. I鈥檝e taught it. And I鈥檝e spent years preparing young people鈥攕tudents, parents, educators鈥攆or the reality of antisemitism in our world.

But when my 13-year-old daughter forwarded me a number of posts she鈥檇 seen on Instagram鈥攁ccusing Israel of genocide, twisting history into propaganda, and riddled with the same tired antisemitic tropes鈥擨 was shaken.

Not because I didn鈥檛 know what I was looking at. I did. I鈥檝e seen worse. I鈥檝e dismantled these lies a thousand times. But this time, it didn鈥檛 come from a student in one of our programmes. It wasn鈥檛 shared by a parent in the community. It was my daughter.

And while it didn鈥檛 change everything鈥擨鈥檝e always known why I do this work鈥攊t reminded me, in the strongest and most personal way, just how close this fight truly is.

Hate didn鈥檛 arrive with noise or warning. It slipped into her world鈥攓uietly, casually鈥攖hrough a post, a share, a few words posing as activism. Not in a dramatic moment, but in the normal rhythm of her day. And there it was: something vile, something heavy, suddenly sitting in front of her.

And it hurt. Because I鈥檝e spent years preparing others for this exact moment. But when it reached someone I love more than anything in the world鈥攎y own young daughter鈥擨 felt, just for a moment, helpless. Because I had no way of stopping the flow of hate from reaching her

This wasn鈥檛 new for me. I grew up with antisemitism. At the same age my daughter is now, I remember being called maudit Juif鈥斺�渄amned Jew鈥濃�攁s a child in Canada. I remember coins thrown at me, muttered slurs in corridors or on the baseball field. It was cruel. But it was visible. You knew where the hate was coming from. You could name it, confront it鈥攜ou could literally fight it. There was pain, but there was also clarity. You saw the line, and you knew which side you were on.

Today, it鈥檚 different. More slippery. More insidious. It comes disguised as virtue. It wraps itself in hashtags and soundbites, then uses them to bludgeon 91传媒 identity. It spreads not with raised fists, but with reposts and retweets. And our kids鈥攐ur bright, kind, curious kids鈥攁re right in the blast zone.

The shared experience of young Jews today isn鈥檛 just being 91传媒. It鈥檚 being made to justify it. To defend it. To wonder whether showing pride will cost them socially, academically, emotionally. They carry this burden quietly鈥攎any too tired, too afraid, or too confused to even talk about it.

And that鈥檚 what struck me most. Not just the posts, but how normal she found them. There was no panic in her voice鈥攋ust calm curiosity, as if this kind of hatred was simply part of the background noise of being a 91传媒 teenager today. I was shocked because she wasn鈥檛. And in that moment, I realised how far this poison has spread鈥攈ow routine, how expected, it鈥檚 become for our kids to see themselves and their people vilified in their feeds.

So how do we respond, when even preparation doesn鈥檛 feel like enough?

First, we don鈥檛 retreat. We move through that sense of futility, and we meet our children where they are. Not just with policies or programmes鈥攂ut with presence. With strength. With truth. With love.

We must teach them not only how to recognise lies鈥攂ut how to hold their heads high despite them. That their 91传媒 identity isn鈥檛 something to explain away, but something to live with pride.

We need to give them more than facts. We need to give them spiritual resilience鈥攁 deep sense of who they are, where they come from, and what they belong to. We need to surround them with stories of strength and survival, not just suffering. We need to light candles with them, sing the songs, say the blessings, share the legacy. That, too, is resistance.

And we need to show them that being part of this people鈥攖his ancient, enduring, beautifully stubborn people鈥攊s a privilege, not a problem.

That鈥檚 where the power is. Not in shouting louder鈥攂ut in building something unshakable inside them.

My daughter is strong. She asked questions. She wanted to understand. She didn鈥檛 turn away. But I carry that moment with me鈥攏ot as defeat, but as fuel. Because if it reached her, it鈥檚 reaching others.

And we have a responsibility鈥攖o her and to every 91传媒 child鈥攏ot just to protect them, but to empower them.

Hate may travel faster now. But so can we.

And with courage, clarity, and pride鈥攚e will.

Michael Gencher is Executive Director, StandWithUs Australia