When Hatred Refuses to Be Silent - Why I’m Crying Out to God for Help in an Age of Violence

There are moments when reading the news leaves me staring at the screen long after I have finished reading.

I feel the weight of the words.

Hatred.

Threats.

Violence.

Extremism.

Antisemitism.

People celebrating suffering.

Families wondering whether they are safe.

And somewhere deep inside me comes a question I suspect many of us have whispered:

“HaShem, how much longer?”

I don't ask that question because I have stopped believing.

I ask it because I believe.

I believe that Elohim sees what human beings overlook.

I believe He hears the cries that never become headlines.

I believe He knows the difference between righteous concern and hatred disguised as righteousness.

And I believe that when violence threatens innocent lives, my response cannot simply be anger, fear, or political argument.

I must learn how to cry out to God.

Not passively.

Not casually.

Not with empty religious words.

But urgently.

With the kind of prayer that comes from somewhere deeper than my vocabulary.

When I Realized Fear Was Trying to Become My Master

I have discovered something uncomfortable about fear.

Fear rarely announces itself honestly.

Sometimes it sounds like wisdom.

Sometimes it sounds like vigilance.

Sometimes it sounds like outrage.

And sometimes it whispers:

“You have to hate them before they hurt you.”

That is where I have to stop.

Because I don't want someone else's hatred to reproduce itself inside my own heart.

I can oppose violence without becoming violent.

I can reject extremism without becoming extreme in my hatred of human beings.

I can defend innocent people without surrendering compassion.

I can grieve Jewish suffering without allowing grief to become vengeance.

That distinction matters.

Because the Torah teaches me something profoundly important:

“You shall not murder.”
— Exodus 20:13

The command is not merely about the behavior of my hands.

It reminds me that human life possesses sacred value.

And when someone intentionally destroys innocent life, something profoundly contrary to God's purposes has occurred.

I Am Not Going to Pretend Evil Is Not Real

There is another temptation I have to resist.

Sometimes religious people become so uncomfortable talking about evil that they soften the truth.

We call hatred “misunderstanding.”

We call terrorism “frustration.”

We call persecution “disagreement.”

We call threats “rhetoric.”

But Scripture doesn't teach me to close my eyes to wickedness.

The Psalms repeatedly show me people crying out to Elohim when evil appears to triumph.

David prayed:

“Arise, Adonai! Save me, my God!”
— Psalm 3:7

That is not passive spirituality.

That is desperate dependence.

The biblical believer does not have to pretend everything is fine.

I can say:

“Adonai, this is evil. This is frightening. This is hurting people. We need You.”

There is tremendous spiritual honesty in that prayer.

The Most Dangerous Thing Hatred Can Do

Hatred doesn't only destroy the person being hated.

It tries to transform the person who hates.

I have watched how quickly fear can turn into suspicion.

Suspicion can become contempt.

Contempt can become dehumanization.

And dehumanization can eventually make cruelty seem acceptable.

That is why I believe spiritual warfare begins inside my own heart long before it reaches my public words.

I have to ask myself:

What is happening inside me while I watch hatred unfold around me?

Am I becoming more prayerful?

Or merely more furious?

Am I becoming more courageous?

Or simply more hostile?

Am I seeking justice?

Or am I secretly enjoying the thought of revenge?

Those are difficult questions.

But discipleship was never supposed to be comfortable.

The Torah Gives Me a Different Way to Respond

One of the passages I return to when emotions become overwhelming is found in Leviticus:

“You shall not hate your brother in your heart... You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge...”
— Leviticus 19:17–18

I find this extraordinarily challenging.

Because when people commit horrific acts, my instinct can be to build emotional walls around my heart.

But HaShem tells His people not to become prisoners of hatred.

That does not mean ignoring danger.

It does not mean refusing justice.

It does not mean abandoning people who are threatened.

It means refusing to let evil dictate the condition of my soul.

There is a difference between protecting the innocent and nurturing hatred.

There is a difference between justice and vengeance.

There is a difference between wisdom and fear.

And I desperately want to remain on the side of wisdom.

I Think About Yeshua's Words

When I turn to the teachings of Yeshua, I don't find a Messiah who tells His followers to become indifferent to evil.

I find something much more demanding.

Yeshua says:

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.”
— Matthew 5:9

I have sometimes read those words too quickly.

Peacemaking isn't pretending there is no conflict.

A peacemaker doesn't necessarily stand in the middle of danger without wisdom.

A peacemaker doesn't call evil good.

A peacemaker doesn't tell victims to remain silent.

Rather, biblical peace is deeply connected to righteousness, truth, justice, and reconciliation.

The Hebrew idea of shalom is much bigger than simply “nobody is fighting.”

It involves wholeness.

Safety.

Well-being.

Right relationship.

And ultimately, the restoration of what has been broken.

That is the kind of peace I want to pray for.

But What Do I Do When Someone Doesn't Want Peace?

This is where my faith gets tested.

What happens when someone genuinely pursues hatred?

What happens when violent extremists reject peaceful coexistence?

What happens when someone intentionally threatens innocent people?

I don't believe Scripture requires me to be naïve.

The Torah repeatedly recognizes the necessity of justice and protection.

Proverbs tells me:

“Rescue those being led away to death; hold back those staggering toward slaughter.”
— Proverbs 24:11

That verse changes the way I think about compassion.

Sometimes compassion means comforting someone.

Sometimes compassion means intervening.

Sometimes compassion means protecting a vulnerable person.

Sometimes compassion means speaking truth when silence would leave others exposed.

Love is not passivity.

Biblical love can be courageous.

My Prayer Has Become More Urgent

There are nights when I don't know what to pray.

So I return to the Psalms.

“Adonai is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? Adonai is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”
— Psalm 27:1

I love that David doesn't say there is nothing frightening.

He says God is greater than what frightens him.

That distinction matters.

Faith doesn't always remove fear immediately.

Sometimes faith teaches me where to take my fear.

So I take it to HaShem.

I tell Him about the families I am worried about.

I tell Him about Jewish communities facing intimidation.

I tell Him about innocent people caught in violence.

I ask Him to expose plans for destruction.

I ask Him to restrain those who intend evil.

I ask Him to give wisdom to those responsible for protecting others.

I ask Him to strengthen those who are afraid.

And I ask Him to keep hatred from taking root inside me.

“Do Not Fear” Does Not Mean “Do Nothing”

I have learned that biblical courage is not recklessness.

When Yeshua warned His disciples about danger, He taught them to be both wise and innocent:

“Be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.”
— Matthew 10:16

I think those words are especially important in an age when information moves faster than wisdom.

I don't have to believe every frightening claim I encounter.

I don't have to share every inflammatory post.

I don't have to amplify rumors.

I don't have to let algorithms disciple my emotions.

I can pause.

I can verify.

I can pray.

I can seek wise counsel.

I can protect my family.

I can remain alert without becoming consumed.

Wisdom and innocence can coexist.

What I Can Actually Do When Violence Feels Overwhelming

Sometimes I feel helpless because the problems appear enormous.

But Scripture keeps bringing me back to what I can actually do.

1. I can pray urgently.

Not vague prayers.

Specific prayers.

I can pray for:

Protection of innocent lives
Wisdom for leaders and authorities
Exposure of violent plans
Courage for threatened communities
Comfort for grieving families
Restraint upon those planning violence
Repentance for people consumed by hatred
Wisdom for parents protecting children
Strength for those confronting antisemitism
Genuine peace and reconciliation where possible

The Psalmist writes:

“The righteous cry out, and Adonai hears, and delivers them out of all their troubles.”
— Psalm 34:17

I hold onto that.

2. I can refuse to spread hatred.

Before I repost something, I can ask:

Is it true?

Is it necessary?

Will it help?

Am I informing people—or inflaming them?

In an atmosphere of fear, responsible speech becomes an act of spiritual discipline.

3. I can stand with people who are suffering.

Sometimes someone doesn't need a theological explanation.

They need someone to say:

“I see you.”

“I'm praying for you.”

“You don't have to carry this alone.”

Comfort is not a small ministry.

Isaiah gives us this beautiful picture:

“Comfort, comfort My people,” says your God.
— Isaiah 40:1

I want my life to embody that command.

4. I can pursue justice without worshiping vengeance.

This may be one of the hardest lessons of all.

When something terrible happens, I want consequences.

I want the innocent protected.

I want perpetrators stopped.

I want truth exposed.

But I don't want vengeance to become my god.

Only HaShem sees the entire picture.

Deuteronomy reminds me:

“Vengeance is Mine, and recompense.”
— Deuteronomy 32:35

That doesn't eliminate human responsibility to pursue justice.

It reminds me that ultimate judgment belongs to God.

That truth allows me to pursue justice without poisoning my soul with revenge.

When Antisemitism Tries to Make Us Afraid to Be Jewish

There is another dimension of this that touches something very personal for many Jewish people.

Hatred can create an atmosphere where people become afraid to visibly live their Jewish identity.

A mezuzah on the door suddenly feels vulnerable.

A Star of David becomes something someone hesitates to wear.

A child going to school becomes a source of anxiety.

A Jewish gathering requires additional security.

A synagogue becomes not only a house of prayer but a place requiring protection.

That breaks my heart.

Because Jewish life should not have to apologize for existing.

The covenantal story of Israel is woven throughout the Tanakh.

HaShem tells Abraham:

“I will bless those who bless you, and I will curse him who curses you; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.”
— Genesis 12:3

The biblical story does not portray Jewish existence as an accident.

And yet I must be careful here.

I don't want biblical promises to become ammunition for hatred toward anyone else.

Instead, they should deepen my confidence in God's faithfulness.

God's Faithfulness Is Bigger Than My Fear

One of the most beautiful promises in the Prophets comes through Isaiah:

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”
— Isaiah 41:10

I have had to read that verse slowly.

I will help you.

Not:

“You will never experience frightening circumstances.”

Not:

“Nothing difficult will ever happen.”

But:

“I will help you.”

There is something profoundly comforting about that.

God's presence does not depend upon my circumstances becoming predictable.

His faithfulness doesn't disappear because the world becomes frightening.

The Prayer I Believe We Need Right Now

If I could gather frightened families, exhausted parents, grieving people, Jewish communities, followers of Yeshua, and anyone longing for peace into one room, I think I would ask us to pray differently.

Not merely:

“God, make everything better.”

But:

“God, make us faithful while we wait.”

Make us courageous without becoming cruel.

Make us discerning without becoming paranoid.

Make us compassionate without becoming naïve.

Make us strong without becoming hardened.

Make us passionate for justice without becoming consumed by revenge.

Make us lovers of truth without becoming addicted to outrage.

And above everything:

Give us shalom.

Not artificial calm.

Not denial.

Not escapism.

Your shalom.

Yeshua and the Enemy of My Soul

There is something Yeshua said that I keep returning to:

“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”
— Matthew 5:44

I admit that this can be one of the most difficult teachings in the Gospels.

Especially when I think about people who intentionally hurt others.

But I don't interpret Yeshua's words as permission for evil to continue.

Prayer is not surrender to wickedness.

Prayer is surrender to God.

I can pray for someone's repentance while praying for their violent plans to be stopped.

I can ask God to transform a hateful heart while simultaneously asking Him to protect the people that hateful heart intends to harm.

Those prayers are not contradictory.

They reflect the tension of biblical righteousness and mercy.

The Hidden Battle Inside Me

The longer I sit with all of this, the more I realize that there are actually two battles.

There is the visible battle against violence, hatred, extremism, intimidation, and injustice.

And there is an invisible battle inside my own heart.

Will fear control me?

Will anger define me?

Will hatred reproduce itself through me?

Will I allow someone else's wickedness to determine who I become?

That last question may be the one that matters most.

Because I cannot control every violent person in the world.

I cannot personally solve every conflict.

I cannot monitor every threat.

I cannot guarantee tomorrow.

But I can bring my heart before HaShem.

And I can say:

“Search me, O God.”

The Psalmist prayed:

“Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my anxieties; and see if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”
— Psalm 139:23–24

That is the prayer I want before I point fingers at everyone else.

What Would Change If I Truly Believed God Was Near?

I think about this question often.

If I really believed HaShem was near, how would I respond to frightening news?

Would I panic?

Would I lash out?

Would I become obsessed with every new development?

Or would I become more intentional about prayer?

More careful with words?

More compassionate toward victims?

More discerning about information?

More courageous about protecting vulnerable people?

More committed to justice?

More determined to pursue shalom?

Faith isn't merely what I say I believe when everything is peaceful.

Faith is what becomes visible in me when peace disappears.

A Simple Spiritual Response When the News Feels Overwhelming

When I feel overwhelmed, I have found it helpful to stop and walk through five questions:

STOP

What am I feeling right now?

DISCERN

What do I actually know, and what am I assuming?

PRAY

What specifically can I place before HaShem?

ACT

Is there one constructive thing I can responsibly do?

RELEASE

What am I trying to control that belongs in God's hands?

This doesn't solve the world's problems.

But it can prevent the world's chaos from taking possession of my soul.

My Hope Is Not in Human Perfectibility

I wish I could say humanity will eventually become peaceful simply because we learn enough, communicate enough, or organize enough.

History has taught me otherwise.

The Tanakh is brutally honest about the human heart.

Yet Scripture is equally persistent about God's redemptive purposes.

The prophet Isaiah gives us a breathtaking vision:

“They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.”
— Isaiah 2:4

That is the shalom I ultimately long for.

A world where children aren't raised around sirens.

Where families don't fear violence.

Where Jewish people don't have to wonder whether openly living their identity will make them targets.

Where human beings are not taught to hate one another.

Where weapons become tools of cultivation.

Where violence gives way to life.

And as a follower of Yeshua, I look toward the Messiah with hope.

Yeshua said:

“Blessed are the peacemakers.”
— Matthew 5:9

His words remind me that I am not called to become another voice in the endless cycle of hatred.

I am called to become a person through whom God's character can be seen.

What I Want to Remember When Fear Comes Back

Because it will.

There will probably be another frightening headline.

Another attack.

Another hateful statement.

Another heartbreaking photograph.

Another moment when I wonder whether humanity has learned anything.

When that happens, I want to remember:

HaShem is still God.

Elohim has not abandoned His purposes.

The covenant story has not disappeared.

Yeshua's call to righteousness has not changed.

Prayer is not pointless.

Compassion is not weakness.

Justice is not hatred.

Wisdom is not cowardice.

Courage is not cruelty.

And shalom is still worth pursuing.

Key Takeaways

I can acknowledge evil without allowing hatred to consume my heart.
I can pray urgently for protection, justice, wisdom, and peace.
I can stand against antisemitism and violent extremism without dehumanizing others.
I can pursue justice without making vengeance my identity.
I can protect vulnerable people while remaining compassionate.
I can practice discernment instead of allowing fear to control my response.
I can refuse to amplify misinformation or inflammatory hatred.
I can comfort people who are frightened or grieving.
I can remember that biblical shalom is more than the absence of conflict.
I can trust HaShem even when I don't understand what He is allowing.
I can follow Yeshua's teaching without becoming passive toward evil.
I can ask the Ruach HaKodesh to guard my heart from becoming what I oppose.

Questions I Need to Ask Myself

I don't want these questions to remain abstract.

I want to sit with them.

Has fear begun controlling my thoughts?

Have I confused justice with vengeance?

Have I allowed someone else's hatred to make me hateful?

Am I praying for people who are suffering, or merely consuming information about their suffering?

Do my words bring clarity—or do they intensify fear?

Am I willing to stand against antisemitism even when doing so is inconvenient?

Am I willing to pursue shalom without pretending evil doesn't exist?

Where do I need greater wisdom?

Where do I need greater courage?

Where do I need repentance?

And perhaps the deepest question:

If someone watched my response to hatred, would they see more hatred—or would they see the character of God?

My Cry to HaShem

So here I am.

I don't have all the answers.

I cannot predict everything that will happen.

I cannot control what violent people decide to do.

I cannot repair every broken relationship or heal every wound.

But I can pray.

And I can choose what kind of person I will be while I pray.

I can choose courage.

I can choose truth.

I can choose compassion.

I can choose wisdom.

I can choose justice.

I can choose shalom.

And I can place what I cannot control into the hands of the One who sees everything.

The Psalmist says:

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.”
— Psalm 46:1

That is where I want to stand.

Not pretending trouble doesn't exist.

But refusing to believe trouble is greater than God.

A Prayer for Protection, Justice, Repentance, and Shalom

Avinu Malkeinu, our Father and our King,

We come before You with heavy hearts.

HaShem, You see every act of violence before we hear about it. You see every frightened family. You see every person who has been threatened, wounded, displaced, or traumatized.

You see what human eyes cannot see.

We urgently ask for Your help.

Protect innocent people from those who intend violence.

Expose plans for destruction before they can be carried out.

Give wisdom to those responsible for protecting communities.

Strengthen those who are afraid.

Comfort those who grieve.

Stand near those who feel alone.

Guard Jewish communities from antisemitism, intimidation, and violence.

Guard children.

Guard families.

Guard houses of worship.

Guard those who are vulnerable.

And, HaShem, we ask You to confront hatred at its roots.

Where hearts are consumed by hatred, bring repentance.

Where people have been deceived, bring truth.

Where violence has become an ideology, break its power.

Where people have been taught to dehumanize others, awaken their conscience.

Where evil is being planned, restrain it.

And where justice is required, let justice be pursued with wisdom and integrity.

Teach me not to become what I oppose.

When I am angry, give me self-control.

When I am frightened, give me courage.

When I am confused, give me discernment.

When I am exhausted, give me strength.

When I am tempted toward hatred, remind me of Your commandments.

And when I cannot see the way forward, help me trust You.

Yeshua, teach me to be a peacemaker without becoming naïve about evil.

Teach me to love without abandoning truth.

Teach me to forgive without calling evil good.

Teach me to seek justice without becoming consumed by vengeance.

Let the Ruach HaKodesh produce within me a spirit that reflects Your heart.

And HaShem, hasten the day when the vision of Isaiah becomes reality:

When nations no longer lift sword against nation.

When weapons become instruments of cultivation.

When children can live without fear.

When hatred no longer governs human hearts.

When true shalom fills the earth.

Until that day, keep me faithful.

Keep me watchful.

Keep me compassionate.

Keep me courageous.

Keep me close to You.

In the name of Yeshua, our Messiah, I pray.

Amen.

California Legislature approves Safe Worship Zone Act, now awaiting Newsom’s stamp

https://www.jpost.com/diaspora/antisemitism/article-907160