Before I survived the Supernova music festival massacre by Hamas terrorists on October 7, my previous brushes with antisemitism were largely limited to being on the wrong end of tasteless “Jew jokes,” which I tried not to take too seriously so that I wouldn’t be accused of “oversensitivity.”

However, since the October 7 Hamas massacre, the rising hatred targeting Jews worldwide has become increasingly aggressive, and I can no longer remain silent in the face of such blatant bigotry.

New manifestations of antisemitism that emerged since October 7 have included the tearing down of Israeli hostage posters; calls on social media and college campuses for the genocide of Jews, and hateful street graffiti in cities across the globe.

Recognizable Jews have been physically attacked, beaten, and prevented from entering certain places and attending many events.

Our response cannot be to cower and let them win. We must be present and proud. We need to show our enemies and the bystanders that their terror will not win.

We vowed we would dance again, and we have. For the first time in 10 months, I along with some other Supernova music festival survivors recently decided to attend a music festival, the O.Z.O.R.A. Festival in Dádpuszta, Hungary. It was definitely an emotional experience, dancing alongside so many of my fellow survivors and seeing stickers plastered on the walls with faces of those who are no longer with us on the dance floor.

While this experience was a healing one, overall, it was also hard seeing graffiti written in the dust on parked cars and bathroom walls making me and my fellow survivors feel unwelcome. The daubings of “Zionists Not Welcome” and “Free Palestine” were meant to intimidate us, to make us feel unwanted, showing that some wanted to say loud and proud that the festival should have been a Jew-free space.

Most upsetting was being on the dance floor and not knowing how many of those dancing next to you agreed with those sentiments.

I don’t believe the graffiti was the work of anyone officially working with the festival. The organizers made us feel welcome and even employed Israeli DJs. However, there was, seemingly, an element among the festival-goers who knew we were there and wanted to frighten us.  

The venomous rhetoric displayed so openly and proudly felt like salt on the emotional wounds I suffered on October 7, making me realize how misinformed most people are about the situation in Israel. This has reaffirmed my belief in how vital it is to combat antisemitism in all of its forms, even if it is just by showing up.

Learning from O.Z.O.R.A.

For me, the O.Z.O.R.A. Festival was a teachable moment. While the majority of the crowd who attended just wanted to dance and enjoy themselves, without any discussion of politics or global affairs – there was a vocal minority who wanted to appropriate the events to spew hate – and this is happening all over the world.

If we are absent, we cannot present our case. And that is the goal of our enemies: To make Jews, Israelis, and Zionists too scared to come out. 

Where they succeed in frightening us, they create the Jew-free spaces of their dreams and, more importantly, they ensure that their toxic narrative is never challenged and their hate is never opposed.

It is not easy, but we must remember that, as Salman Rushdie famously said: “How do you defeat terrorism? Don’t be terrorized.”

We must stand up and be counted. We must be present. We must not let the hate and the lies win, whether on a university campus, online, on the streets, or at a dance festival; we must raise our voices and do something.

We must not let terror and antisemitism be victorious.

This is how we overcome.

The writer is a public affairs officer for the Combat Antisemitism Movement (CAM).