Tears in Washington, Resolve in Our Peoplehood

By Yuval David, Council Member, Voice of the People

 

On Wednesday, terror struck the heart of Washington, D.C.

At the Capital Jewish Museum—on a night meant to celebrate diplomacy, Jewish life, and unity—two bright, beautiful people were gunned down in cold blood. It was an event organized by the American Jewish Committee, one of the pillars of our communal life and a champion of Jewish advocacy around the world. And it became the scene of unthinkable tragedy.

 

Sarah Milgrim and Yaron Lischinsky were murdered.

They were targeted not for what they had done, but for who they were—and who they were perceived to be: Jews. Allies of the Jewish people. Proud representatives of Israel.

Zichronam Livracha, may the memory of Sarah Milgrim and Yaron Lischinsky forever be a blessing.

 

I write these words with tears in my eyes and a heavy, aching soul. As a Washingtonian. As a Jew. As a Zionist. As someone who believes deeply in life, in love, in the promise of the future. My heart is shattered. But even in the heartbreak, I feel the quiet call that lives in the bones of our people: we must continue. We must respond. We must build.

 

This is the essence of our Jewish and Zionist tradition—not just to mourn, but to rise. Not simply to grieve, but to take hold of our sacred responsibility and step forward with hope and action.

 

Sarah and Yaron were staff members of the Embassy of Israel to the United States—practicing diplomacy through their work, and by their commitment to our people and Israel. Ambassadors of light. They were in love, planning to get engaged. They were building a future together.

 

And in a flash, that future was stolen—by a radicalized American terrorist, a far-left socialist who supported and then became an Islamist extremist. He shouted “Free Palestine” and all the slogans of hate…and opening fire.

 

His bullets were not acts of resistance or protest. They were weapons of ideological hatred, sharpened by propaganda and poison.

This was no random act of violence. This was a terrorist attack—premeditated, targeted, and born from a campaign of incitement that festers in certain corners of our society.

 

It is time to name the enemy clearly: global Islamist extremism, which has cynically co-opted the language of human rights in order to justify murder.

 

Palestinianism has become the Trojan Horse of a broader Islamist movement—one that preaches death while pretending to seek justice.

The irony and pain are unbearable. I met Yaron the day before he was killed.

 

I had just spoken at the Middle East Forum conference in D.C., where I addressed exactly this threat—the focus of Islamism on the Left in the West: the infiltration of Islamist ideology into Western progressive movements, and the manipulation of leftist ideals into weapons of hate.

I discussed how and why I warn that many of today’s “Pro-Palestinian” slogans are not calls for peace, but cries for violence.

 

I spoke about how Jews are no longer safe—not in Israel, not in Europe, not in America, not in Africa, not in the Asia, not anywhere else. And neither is the democratic world, if it continues to turn a blind eye…and protect the freedom of speech of those who decry and condemn the freedoms we all have.

 

After I spoke, Yaron approached me.

We connected deeply—man to man, Jew to Jew.

We spoke of the danger, yes. But we also spoke of pride, of commitment, of the power of standing firm in our identity.

He was thoughtful. Warm. Incredibly intelligent. And beautifully handsome. I remember thinking, this man has so much ahead of him.

 

Less than a day later, he and the woman he loved were gone.

This wasn’t random. It wasn’t senseless. It was predictable—because the world has allowed too many lies to spread unchecked. The world has failed to listen. And it has failed to act.

 

This is why I speak. This is why I write. This is why I use every platform I can, and reach for more across broadcast and print media, entertainment, political advocacy, and social media.

 

To remember Sarah and Yaron not just with tears, but with truth.

To honor them not only with sorrow, but with strength.

To ensure that their story does not disappear—but becomes a rallying cry.

And this is why I serve on the council of Voice of the People.

Among all of you 150 driven, brilliant, deeply rooted Jews from across the globe, we are grappling with the existential questions of our time:

 

How do we preserve and protect Jewish peoplehood in an age of rising hatred?

How do we build bridges with the world, while fortifying ourselves from those who seek our destruction?

How do we instill pride in our youth?

How do we turn the pain of today into the progress of tomorrow?

These aren’t abstract debates. They are life-and-death imperatives.

The mission of Voice of the People—to confront these questions with clarity and courage—has never been more urgent. And the work we do may well be what saves us.

 

Among us are those who work for the American Jewish Committee.

To them I say: this moment must feel unbearable. The event you organized—meant to uplift—was pierced by violence. You may feel the crushing weight of guilt, of heartbreak, of “what if.”

But I want you to hear this from me, and from all of us who know what it means to stand with you:

 

You are not alone.

You did not cause this.

You have done so much for our people, and we need you to continue.

We need you. And, I am here for you with you.

Let this be not your breaking point, but your turning point.

Let this horror deepen your commitment. Let it sharpen your mission.

And know that we are with you, not only in grief—but in the rebuilding.

Jewish history teaches us to turn mourning into meaning.

This is a moment of tragedy—and it is a movement of purpose.

And we must all answer the call.

 

When the Jewish people make cultural survival a goal, we become the key to saving the democracies around the globe.

As the West trembles—paralyzed by fear, duped by false narratives, unsure of itself—Israel stands firm…it must, we need it to—not just Israel the country, but Israel the people, Am Israel.

Am Israel endures. Am Israel innovates. Am Israel inspires.

 

The Jewish people, scattered and united, bruised but unbroken, bring life where others bring death, and hope where others sow despair.

Sarah and Yaron are no longer with us.

But they are with us still—in our mission, in our mourning, and in our determination.

 

We must build a world where no Jew is murdered for being a Jew.

Where no ally is punished for standing with us.

Where love, like theirs, is allowed to flourish and to grow old.

Zichronam Livracha.

 

May their memory be a blessing.

 

May our grief become a path.

 

May our resolve become our revolution.

 

Am Israel Chai