“When you build a new house, you shall make a parapet for your roof, so that you will not bring blood upon your house if anyone falls from it.” (Deuteronomy 22:8)
The Torah’s command to build a parapet isn’t just ancient construction advice—it’s a moral imperative, a mandate to ensure safety in all aspects of life. It’s as if the text is calling out to us across the millennia: guard your spaces, protect your people. But what happens when the roofs are guarded, yet the builders themselves are unprotected? What happens when the pillars of our communities—the rabbis, teachers, and emissaries—are left vulnerable to threats that transcend borders?
This week, we were forced to confront those questions chillingly.
Rabbi Zvi Kogan was a familiar figure on the streets of Dubai. The Israeli-born Chabad emissary, who once served in the IDF and later managed a supermarket, was known for his warmth and resilience. His days were spent greeting Jewish tourists at the kosher restaurant, organizing Torah classes, and offering solace to Gulf residents navigating Jewish life far from home. He was more than a rabbi; he was the heart of a budding Jewish community.
And now, he is missing.
Kogan’s disappearance on Thursday sent shockwaves through the Jewish world. His car was found abandoned an hour outside Dubai, and reports suggest Iranian operatives may have been involved. The suspects have fled to Turkey. For now, we don’t know where he is—or what happened to him. But we do know this: emissaries like Kogan, the lifeblood of global Jewish communities, are increasingly in danger.
This war isn’t just against Israel. It’s against Jews and Jewish values. And it’s happening everywhere.
From Dubai to Amsterdam: Jews under attack
Kogan’s disappearance comes on the heels of other chilling events. Earlier this month, in Amsterdam, Jewish fans of Maccabi Tel Aviv FC were ambushed and beaten by pro-Palestinian mobs in what can only be described as a premeditated pogrom. Videos showed men being chased into canals, slashed with knives, and spat on. “We were ambushed,” one fan told Maariv. Another said, “The police abandoned us.”
In Crown Heights, a slashing attack rattled the Chabad-centered neighborhood. And in Chicago, a Jewish man on his way to the synagogue was shot by an assailant shouting Allahu Akbar. These incidents, far from isolated, form a disturbing trend: being visibly Jewish is a risk.
The Jewish principle of pikuach nefesh—saving a life—has never felt more urgent. “Whoever saves one life, it is as if they have saved the entire world” (Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5) is not just a teaching but a rallying cry. Protecting the lives of Jewish leaders, emissaries, and communities is not optional; it is our collective obligation.
As Ze’ev Jabotinsky warned, “The Jewish people must stand guard over its safety and security. No one else will do it for us.” His vision of Jewish self-reliance resonates as we face rising threats in an increasingly hostile world.
A battle for the soul of Jewish life
Emissaries like Kogan stand at the front lines of Jewish continuity. They are the keepers of tradition, the builders of community. They represent not only Jewish identity but its survival. And that makes them targets.
Ronald S. Lauder, president of the World Jewish Congress, recently urged Nordic governments to enhance security for Jewish institutions, calling it a “battle of values and civilizations.” His words echo globally. If Chabad rabbis are disappearing in Dubai and Jews are being beaten in Amsterdam, where is it safe to be Jewish?
In Washington, synagogues like Kesher Israel have ramped up security ahead of the High Holidays. Rusty Rosenthal, director of security at the Jewish Federation of Greater Washington, called it “the Jewish Super Bowl” of security preparation. Metal detectors, armed guards, and situational awareness training are now the norm. “We don’t want to lose what makes us special—being warm and welcoming,” one synagogue director said. But this balance is becoming harder to strike.
What next?
The disappearance of Kogan is a wake-up call. It reminds us that Jewish leaders and institutions are at the forefront of this fight, often unprotected and vulnerable. Governments must act decisively. Communities must be vigilant. And Jewish organizations must prioritize security—not as a reaction but as a constant state of readiness.
As Theodor Herzl said, “It is true that our people need protection and support, but above all they need to begin to defend themselves.” His words and Jabotinsky’s vision stand as a call to action: to protect those who protect Jewish life, wherever they may be.
This is not just about security. It’s about survival. It’s about the values and resilience that define who we are as Jews. We cannot afford to falter. Kogan—and all who stand at the front lines of Jewish life—deserve nothing less.
